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@e SPELL of 
ALGERIA and TUNISIA 


THE SPELL SERIES 


Each volume with one or more colored plates and 
many illustrations from original drawings or special 
photographs. Octavo, decorative cover, gilt top, boxed. 

Per volume, $3.75 





By IsasEL ANDERSON 
THE SPELL OF BELGIUM 
THE SPELL OF JAPAN 
THE SPELL OF THE HAWAIIAN ISLANDS AND 
THE PHILIPPINES 


By CAROLINE ATWATER MASON 
THE SPELL OF ITALY 
THE SPELL OF SOUTHERN SHORES 
THE SPELL OF FRANCE 


By ArcHIE BELL 
THE SPELL OF CHINA 
THE SPELL OF EGYPT 
THE SPELL OF THE HOLY LAND 


By Keita CLark 
THE SPELL OF SPAIN 
THE SPELL OF SCOTLAND 


By W. D. McCrackKan 
THE SPELL OF TYROL 
THE SPELL OF THE ITALIAN LAKES 


By Epwarp NEVILLE VoSsE 
THE SPELL OF FLANDERS 


By Burton E. STEVENSON 
TEE SPELL OF HOLLAND 


By Jur1a DEW. Anpison 
THE SPELL OF ENGLAND 


By NatHan Hasxkett Doe 
THE SPELL OF SWITZERLAND 


By FRANK Roy FRAPRIE 
THE SPELE OF THE RHINE 


By ANnpReE HALLAYS (Translated by FRANK Rov FRAPRIE) 
THE SPELL OF ALSACE 
THE SPELL OF THE HEART OF FRANCE 
THE SPELL OF PROVENCE 


By Witt S. Monror 
THE SPELE CF SICI:Y 
THE SPELL OF NORWAY 
By Francis MiLTouNn 
THE SPELL OF ALGERIA AND TUNISIA 





L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 


(INCORPORATED) 
53 Beacon Street Boston, Mass. 








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ARN OF Pi 


ri Behe spe! Sees , 


SPELL of ALGERIA | 
and | UNISIA 

i\\\oo BY af 

3 Francis Miltoun, psev. 
Officier du Nicham Iftikhar 

Author of “* Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine,” 
“Rambles in Normandy,” “‘ Rambles in Brittany,”” 
From Drawings and Paintings Done 








* Rambles on the Riviera,” ““ Castles and Chateaux 
ect ef Old Navarre and the Basque Provigces,"’ ete. 
Milburg Francisco” Mansfield 
i aT, TANCISCS ANSTIEIC|| 
ali Hy " 4 h 

imp mr 
















WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 


By Blanche McManus 






PC PAGE co (COMPANY | 
MDCCCCXXIV | | 






Copyright, 1908 
By L. C. Pace & ComMPANY 
(INCORPORATED ) 





All rights reserved 


Made in U.S.A. 


First Impression, April, 1908 
New Edition, September, 1924 


PRINTED BY C. H. SIMONDS COMPANY 
BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A. 


INTRODUCTION TO NEW EDITION 
I 


In reissuing Francis Miltoun’s “‘In the Land of 
Mosques and Minarets” under the title of ‘The 
Spell of Algeria and Tunisia,’”’ the publishers have 
achieved two ends. They have assured to a book, 
distinguished, sympathetic, and charming, a last- 
ing position in the literature of travel—inclusion in 
the well-known “‘Spell Series’; and they have as- 
sured the preservation of a picture of a fascinating 
land and people during its most romantic era. 

The publishers do not claim that the book is a 
guide book—no travel book is, or should be. Noris 
it a photographic picture of today. The Algeria of 
today, alas, 1s, in too many cases, deep beneath a 
veneer of European civilization. 

But the real Algeria and the real Tunisia are still 
there for those who know; the Algeria of Hichens 
and of the “Algerian Girl.” And it is this Algeria 
that Mr. Miltoun paints—a land of Mosques and 
Minarets, of beautiful women and proud men 
(so few today); of picturesque customs and _ pic- 
aresque adventures; and beauty and mystery, 


Introduction 





all the more intense because European civilization 
had not crept in with its physical comforts to 
dull the soul. 

If a guide book is necessary in order to plan the 
itinerary, how much more necessary is such a travel 
book to waken an understanding and true ap- 
preciation! 


II 


A brief survey, however, political and social, of 
the last fifteen years may prove of interest in con- 
sidering this land. Mr. Miltoun has sie its 
past; what is its future? 

The spheres of influence in North ee which 
played a part, only second to the situation in the 
Balkans, as a contributary cause to the World War, © 
seem now to be on a firm basis. France retains, un- 
shaken, Tunis, Algeria, and part of Morocco; 
Italy is unquestioned in Tripoli; and Spain, 
though at the present writing in difficulties with 
the natives, has permanent interests in the rest of 
Morocco. 

The situation is of importance to all parties. To 
the European nations concerned, North Africa is 
the granary that it was to the Romans and Greeks; 
it is a source of manpower; it is an excellent field 
for expansion. To the native populace modern 
colonization methods, of which the keynote is fair- 


Introduction 


ness, consideration, and justice, are a blessing. 
They are given the advantages of physical progress 
and mental enlightenment, and they are left secure 
in their spiritual life. 

Statistics during and since the World War are 
not easily obtainable. But the countries remain, 
and probably will continue so, agricultural. The 
mines have proved valuable, as also the forests, 
but their development is rendered difficult by their 
inaccessibility. | 

Superficially, Algeria has garbed herself in Euro- 
pean customs, at the same time retaining her dis- 
tinctive character to a surprising degree. Tram- 
lines, highways, railroads are now excellent and far- 
reaching; transportation to Algeria on the Dutch, 
French, and English lines is extremely comfortable. 
The tourist of today does not have to suffer the 
discomforts that confronted his more adventurous 
brethren twenty years ago. There are now excellent 
hotels in even the more out-of-the-way places—na- 
tive, still, but clean and accustomed to European 
requirements. 

The administration of the two countries has been 
stable for some time. Northern Algeria is divided 
into three departments, Algiers, Oran, and Con- 
stantine. Each sends to the French National Legis- 
lature one senator and two deputies; and all laws 
governing the colony are formulated by that body. 


Introduction 





The local Government consists of a Governor- 
General, a Superior Council and a Lower House. 

Tunis, with an area of about 50,000 square miles 
(the boundaries are still somewhat indefinite), has a 
different status. She is still a protectorate. The Bey 
is nominally at the head of the government, but 
his Minister of Foreign Affairs is the French Resi- 
dent-General. The Bey is assisted by seven French 
and two Native Ministers, who administer nine 
departments. 

THE PUBLISHERS. 


CHAPTER 


Contents 


> 


GoING AND COMING : : ; : : 
THE REAL NortH AFRICA . 
ALGERIA OF TO-DAY . ; : : : 
THE REGENCE OF TUNISIA AND THE TU- 
NISIANS : ; , 4 
THE RELIGION OF THE MusSULMAN 
ARCHITECTURE OF THE MosQugEs : 
Portry, Music, AND DANCING . 
ARABS, TURKS, AND JEWS 
SomE TuHinecs THAT MatTreER—TO THE 
ARAB. : 
“Tae ARAB Sid WITH ae 
THE SHIP OF THE DESERT AND His Gore 
oF SAND : : ‘ : 
SOLDIERS SAVAGE AND Cee eerie 
GIONNAIRES AND SPAHIS : 
From ORAN TO THE Morocco FRONTIER 
THE MITIDJA AND THE SAHEL 
THE GREAT WHITE CiTy — ALGIERS . 
ALGIERS AND BEYOND . 
KABYLIE AND THE KABYLES 
CONSTANTINE AND THE GORGE DU RUMMEL 
BETWEEN THE DESERT AND THE SOWN 
BIsKRA AND THE DESERT BEYOND 
In THE WAKE OF THE ROMAN 
v 


CC dD DO LO PO 
D> ON Of 
CO Co Or Or 


320 


336 


vi Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 
XXII, Tunis AND THE SOUKS : 7 : - 2000 
XXIII. In THE SHADOW OF THE MOSQUE : . oil 
XXIV. Tuer Giory THat OncE Was CARTHAGE . 3889 
XXV. THE BARBARY COAST ; ' P : o> 402 
XXVI. THe Oasis or Tozeur : : : Peg 


INDEX . : : : , 4 : eae at 


List of Illustrations 


—_——__@——_—_- 


THE Caip oF THE MSAABA 


THE APPROACH BY SEA (Map) . , . 
THe EpGe or THE DESERT : : . 
SCIREUR ) : : 
THE FLIGHT OF THE Town (Map) . : 
ALGERIA AND ITs PROVINCES (Map) 
TouGGgouRT . . . . . . . 
FARMING, OLD STYLE. ° : ; - 
BATNA . : : . . . : 
Tunista (Map) . : . . 


An Oup SEAL OF THE BEY OF Te 
THE Ouives WE Eat. 
Tue Wor.up oF ISLAM 


PAGE 


Frontispiece 


facing 
facing 
facing 


facing 
Sacing 


baie 


THE Eraut Positions OF THE PEAvRG Mansa, MAN 


Tue Murzzin’s CALL TO PRAYER 
A MARABOUT 


In AN ARAB CEMETERY : A : 
GROUND PLAN OF A MOSQUE . ° 
A WINDOW IN AN ARAB HOUSE : : 
Kousa OF SipI-BRAHIM . 5 A : 
An ARABIAN MUSICIAN , : 2 
A FLUTE SELLER ; : : : 


«SOUVENIR D’ALGERIE ” ini) - 

Types OF ARABS : ; 

JEWISH WoMEN OF TUNIS. “ : 
Vii 


facing 
fucing 
facing 


facing 
facing 
facing 


facing 


8 
12 
27 
29 


100 
105 
106 
120 
122 
123 
131 
142 


vill List of Illustrations 








PAGE 
A DAUGHTER OF THE “GREAT TENTS” . facing 152 
THe LIFE OF THE “GREAT TENTS”. : facing 156 
An ARAB AND His Horse In Gara ATTIRE facing 172 
THE MEHARI OF THE DESERT . . facing 180 
A DESERT CARAVAN . : : 1 | © Jacingaeias 
THE ILLIMITABLE DESERT . : : : ALOE 
Tur Sanp DuNES OF THE DESEK® . - facing 192 
A CAPTAIN OF SPAHIS : ; : «  efaciigueccs 
SomE NATIVE SOLDIERY . : : : : 204 
A GouM : : . ‘ . facing 206 
ARAB MOSQUE AT psy OUNIF . . . facing 220 
A Kir SHOP ee ° ° : - facing 222 
LAGHOUAT . : : ° ; : - facing 224 
Horet aT Fiauie : . ° : : : - 225 
MARKET, BOUFARIK . : ‘ . ‘ : Ae Let 
ToMB OF S1p1-YACOUB_. : : ° facing 282 
A MAvRESQUE OF BLIDA . ; : . facing 2384 
FRIEZE AT THE RUISSEAU DES SINGES . : . 2438 
ALGIERS AND Its Environs (Map) . . facing 244 
A CEMETERY GATE . : : o. .  facingmeacn 
A Bou-Saapa Type . : : . - facing 268 
THiIncs SEEN IN KABYLIE . : : : . cer t15) 
A MINARET AT CONSTANTINE . : ° : . 294 
A CONSTANTINE MosquE . ° ° . facing 294 
THE GorGE DU RUMMEL . : ° - facing 298 
A MussutMAN FUNERAL . : 302 
THE VILLAGE AND THE GORGE OF EL Karierre 316 
BisKRA AND ITs ARAB VILLAGES (Map). ; - 3d2i 
THE COURTYARD OF THE HOTEL DES ZIBAN, BISKRA 
facing 322 
Stp1-OKBA . . ° - : - . facing 330 
THE Kaspa, Bona . : : facing 338 
So-cCALLED ToMB OF CONRT A TIAE (Diora . 842 


Toms OF MEDRACEN . : : : ; : . 3843 


List of Illustrations ix 








PAGE 
LAMBESSA AND Its Ruins . : . . facing 346 
LAMBESSA (Map) ‘ ° ° . . 347 
TiIMGAD (Map) ; : ° ° , ° ° . 349 
TEBESSA (Diagram) ° 4 ° . : . . 353 
Morsotr (Diagram) : : : : 5 . 3855 
In THE Bazaars, Tunis. ° : : facing 3860 
A STREET OF Mosques, Tunis . : pa FACING e300 
DancinGe GIRLS OF TUNIs . : ° ° : . 369 
HABis’s VISITING CARD. : ° ; : ate), 
THE PorTs OF CARTHAGE . ° ° - facing 390 
CARTHAGE (Map) . : : » 895 
ANCIENT Utica (Diagram) . : : : : . 398 
THE SuD-TUNISIEN (Map) . . . 404 
In a Karrouan Mosque . : . - facing 410 
AMPHITHEATRE AT EL DJEM ; : . 413 
EL OUED . : ; : ; ; ue CTU ee eo 


A STREET IN TOZEUR ° ‘ . - facing 420 





The Spell of Algeria 


and Tunisia 


——_—__——_ 


CHAPTER I 
GOING AND COMING 


‘* Say, dear friend, wouldst thou go to the land where pass the 
caravans beneath the shadow of the palm trees of the Oasis; 
where even in mid-winter all is in flower as in spring-time else. 
where.’? — VILLIERS DE L’Is~tE ADAM. 


Tuer taste for travel is an acquired accom- 
plishment. Not every one likes to rough it. 
Some demand home comforts; others luxuri- 
ous appointments; but you don’t get either of 
these in North Africa, save in the palace ho- 
tels of Algiers, Biskra and Tunis, and even 
there these things are less complete than many 
would wish. 

We knew all this when we started out. We 
had become habituated as it were, for we had 
been there before. The railways of North Af- 
rica are poor, uncomfortable things, and ex- 
cruciatingly slow; the steamships between Mar- 

1 


2 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





seilles or Genoa and the African littoral are 
either uncomfortably crowded, or wobbly, slow- 
going tubs; and there are many discomforts 
of travel —not forgetting fleas — which con- 
siderably mitigate the joys of the conventional 
traveller who affects floating hotels and Pull- 
man car luxuries. 

The wonderful African-Mediterranean set- 
ting is a patent attraction and is very lovely. 
Every one thinks that; but it is best always 
to take ways and means into consideration 
when journeying, and if the game is not worth 
the candle, let it alone. 

This book is not written in commendation 
only of the good things of hfe which one meets 
with in North Africa, but is a personal record 
of things seen and heard by the artist and the 
author. As such it may be accepted as a faith- 
ful transcript of sights and scenes — and many 
correlative things that matter —which will 
prove to be the portion of others who follow 
after. These things have been seen by many 
who have gone before who, however, have not 
had the courage to paint or describe them as 
they found them. 

Victor Hugo discovered the Rhine, Thé- 
ophile Gautier Italy, De Nerval the Orient, and 
Merimée Spain; but they did not blush over 


Going and Coming 3 


the dark side and include only the more charm- 
ing. For this reason the French descriptive 
writer has often given a more faithful picture 
of strange lands than that limned by Anglo- 
Saxon writers who have mostly praised them 
in an ignorant, sentimental fashion, or reviled 
them because they had left their own damp 
sheets and stogy food behind, and really did 
not enjoy travel — or even life — without them. 
There is a happy mean for the travellers’ mood 
which must be cultivated, if one is not born 
with it, else all hope of pleasurable travel is 
lost for ever. 

The comparison holds good with regard to 
North Africa and its Arab population. Sir 
Richard Burton certainly wrote a masterful 
work in his ‘‘ Pilgrimage to Mecca and Me- 
dina,’’ and set forth the Arab character as no 
one else has done; but he said some things, 
and did some things, too, that his fellow coun- 
trymen did not like, and so they were loth to 
accept his great work at its face value. 

The African Mediterranean littoral, the 
mountains and the desert beyond, and all that 
lies between, have found their only true ex- 
ponents in Mme. Myriam Harry, MM. Louis 
Bertrand, Arnaud and Maryval, André Gide 
and Isabelle Eberhardt, and Victor Barrucaud. 


4 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


These and some others mentioned further on 
are the latter-day authorities on the Arab life 
of Africa, though the makers of Hnglish books 
on Algeria and Tunisia seem never to have 
heard of them, much less profited by their next- 
to-the-soil knowledge. Instead they have pre- 
ferred to weave their romances and novels on 
‘* home-country ’’ lines, using a Mediterranean 
or Saharan setting for characters which are 
not of Africa and which have no place therein. 

This book is a record of various journeyings 
in that domain of North Africa where French 
influence is paramount; and is confidently of- 
fered as the result of much absorption of first- 
hand experiences and observations, coupled 
with authenticated facts of history and ro- 
mance. All] the elements have been found sur 
place and have been woven into the pages 
which follow in order that nothing desirable of 
local colour should be lost by allowing too great 
an expanse of sea and land to intervene. 

The story of Algeria and Tunisia has so 
often been told by the French, and its moods 
have so often been painted by les “‘ gens d’es- 
prit et de talent,’ that a foreigner has a con- 
siderable task laid out for him in his effort to 
do the subject justice. Think of trying to catch 
the fire and spirit of Fromentin, of Loti, of the 


Going and Coming 5 


Maupassants or Masqueray, or the local colour 
of the canvases of Dinet, Armand Point, Pot- 
ter, Besnard, Constant, Cabannes, Guillaumet, 
or Ziem! Then go and try to paint the picture 
as it looks to you. Yet why not? We live to 
learn; and, as all the phases of this subtrop- 
ical land have not been exploited, why should 
we — the author and artist — not have a hand 
in it? 

So we started out. The mistral had begun 
to blow at Martigues (la Venise Provencal 
known by artist folk of all nationalities, but 
unknown — as yet — to the world of tourists), 
where we had made our Mediterranean head- 
quarters for some years, but the sirocco was 
still blowing contrariwise from the south on 
the African coast, and it was for that reason 
that the author, the artist and another — the 
agreeable travelling companion, a rara avis by 
the way — made a hurried start. 

We were tired of the grime and grind of 
cities of convention; and were minded, after 
another round of travel, to repose a bit in some 
half-dormant, half-progressive little town of 
the Barbary coast, or some desert oasis where 
one might, if he would, still dream the dreams 
of the Arabian nights and days, regardless of 
a certain reflected glamour of vulgar modernity 


6 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 








which filters through to the utmost Saharan 
outposts from the great ports of the coast. 

By a fortunate chance weather and circum- 
stances favoured this last journey, and thus 
the making of this book became a most enjoy- 
able labour. 

We left Marseilles for the land of the sun at 
six of an early autumn evening, the “* heure 
verte ’’ of the Marseillais, when the whole Can- 
nebiere smells of absinthe, alcohol, and anise, 
and all the world is at ease after a bustling, 
rustling day of busy affairs. These men of the 
Midi, though they seemingly take things easy 
are a very industrious race. There is no such 
virile movement in Paris, even on the boule- 
vards, as one may witness on Marseilles’ fa- 
mous Cannebiére at the seducing hour of the 
Frenchman’s apéritif. Marseilles is a ceaseless 
turmoil of busy workaday affairs as well. 
From the ever-present gaiety of the Cannebi- 
ére cafés it is but a step to the great quais and 
their creaking capstans and shouting long- 
shoremen. 

From the quais of La Joliette all the world 
and his wife come and go in an interminable 
and constant tide of travel, to Africa, to Cor- 
sica and Sardinia; to Jaffa and Constantino- 
ple; to Port Said and the East, India, Aus- 


Going and Coming 7 


tralia, China and Japan; and_ westward, 
through Gibraltar’s Strait to the Mexican Gulf 
and the Argentine. The like of Marseilles ex- 
ists nowhere on earth; it is the most brilliant 
and lively of all the ports of the world. It is 
the principal seaport of the Mediterranean and 
the third city of France. 

Our small, tubby steamer slipped slowly and 
silently out between the Joliette quais and past 
the towering Notre Dame de la Garde and the 
great Byzantine Cathedral of Sainte Marie 
Majeur, leaving the twinkling lights of the 
Vieux Port and the Pharo soon far behind. 
Past Chateau d’If, the Point des Catalans, 
Ratonneau and Pomégue we steamed, all rem- 
iniscent of Dumas and that masterpiece of his 
gallant portrait gallery,—‘‘ The Count of 
Monte Cristo.’’ 

_ The great Planier light flashed its rays in 
our way for thirty odd miles seaward, keeping 
us company long after we had eaten a good 
dinner, a very good dinner indeed, with café- 
cognac —or chartreuse, real chartreuse, not 
the base imitation, mark you, tout compris, to 
top off with. The boat was a poor, wallowing 
thing of eight hundred tons or so, but the din- 
ner was much better than many an Atlantic 
liner gives. It had character, and was served 


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Going and Coming 9 


in a tiny saloon on deck, with doors and ports 
all open, and a gentle, sighing Mediterranean 
brise wafting about our heads. | 

We were six passengers all told, and we were 
very, very comfortably installed on the [sly of 
the Compagnie Touache, in spite of the fact 
that the craft owned to twenty-seven years and 
made only ten knots. The Compagnie Géné- 
rale Transatlantique has boats of the compara- 
tively youthful age of twelve and seventeen, 
but they are so crowded that one is infinitely 
less comfortable, though they make the voyage 
at a gait of fifteen or sixteen knots. Then 
again the food 1s by no means so good or well 
served as that we had on the Isly. We have 
tried them both, and, as we asked no favours 
of price or accommodation in either case, the 
opinion may be set down as frank, truthful and 
personal. What others may think all depends 
on themselves and circumstance. 

In Algeria, at any rate, one doesn’t find trip- 
pers, and there are surprisingly few of what 
the French call ‘** Anglaises sans-géne’’ and 
** Allemands grotesques.’’ 

The traveller in Algeria should by all means 
eliminate his countrymen and study the native 
races and the French colons, if he wishes to 
know something of the country. Otherwise he 


10 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


will know nothing, and might as well have 
gone to a magic-lantern show at home. 

It is a delightfully soft, exotic land which 
the geographers know as Mediterranean Af- 
rica, and which is fast becoming known to the 
world of modern travellers as the newest win- 
ter playground. The tide of pleasure-seeking 
travel has turned towards Algeria and Tunisia, 
but the plea is herein made to those who follow 
after for the better knowing of the places off 
the beaten track, Bou-Saada, Kairouan, the 
Oasis of Gabés, Oued-Souf or Tlemcen, for 
instance, something besides Mustapha, Biskra 
and Tunis. 

Darkest Africa is no more darkest Africa. 
That idea was exploded when Stanley uttered 
his famous words: ‘‘ Doctor Livingstone, I 
presume.’’ And since that day the late Cecil 
Rhodes launched his Cape to Cairo scheme, and 
Africa has been given over to diamond-mine 
exploiters, rubber collectors and semi-invalids, 
who, hearing wonderful tales of the climatic 
conditions of Assouan and Biskra, have fore- 
gathered in these places, to the joy of the na- 
tive and the profit of the hotel director — usu- 
ally a Swiss. 

Occasionally one has heard of an adventur- 
ous tourist who has hunted the wild gazelle in 


Going and Coming 11 


the Atlas or the mountains of Kabylie, the gen- 
tlest man-fearing creature God ever made, or 
who has ‘‘ camped-out ’’ in a tent furnished by 
Cook, and has come home and told of his ex- 
ploits which in truth were more Tartarinesque 
than daring. 

The trail of the traveller is over all to-day; 
but he follows as a rule only the well-worn 
pistes. In addition to those strangers who live 
in Algiers or Tunis and have made of those 
cities weak imitations of Kuropean capitals and 
their suburbs as characterless as those of 
Paris, London or Chicago, they have also im- 
ported such conventions as “‘ bars ”’ and ‘‘ tea- 
rooms ’’ to Biskra and Hammam-R’hira. 

Tlemcen and its mosques, however; Figuig 
and its fortress-looking Grand Hotel du Sa- 
hara at Beni-Ounif; Touggourt and its market 
and its military posts; and Bou-Saada and 
Tozeur with their oases are as yet compara- 
tively unknown ground to all except artists who 
have the passion of going everywhere and any- 
where in search of the unspoiled. 

When it comes to Oued-Souf with its one 
‘* Maison francaise,’’ which, by the way, is in- 
habited by the Frenchified Sheik of the Msaaba 
to whom a chapter in this book might be de- 
voted; or Ghardaia, the Holy City of the Sud- 


12 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Constantinois, the case were still more differ- 
ent. This is still virgin ground for the stran- 
ger, and can only be reached by diligence or 
caravan. 

The railway with a fairly good equipment 
runs all the length of Algeria and Tunisia, from 
the Moroccan frontier at Tlemcen to Gabes 
and beyond, almost to the boundary of Tripoli 
in Barbary. An automobile would be much 
quicker, and in some parts even a donkey, but 
the railway serves as well as it ever does in 
a new-old country where it has recently been 
installed. 

If one enters by Algiers or Oran and leaves 
by Tunis or even Sfax or Gabés he has done 
the round; but if opportunity offers, he should 
go south from Tlemcen into the real desert at 
Figuig; from Biskra to Touggourt; or from 
Gabés to Tozeur. Otherwise he will have so 
kept ‘‘in touch ’’ with things that he ean, for 
the asking, have oatmeal for breakfast and 
marmalade for tea, which is not what one 
comes, or should come, to Africa for. One 
takes his departure from French Mediterra- 
nean Africa from Tunis or Bizerte. 

Leaving Tunis and its domes and minarets 
behind, his ship makes its way gingerly out 
through the straight-cut canal, a matter of six 








jdasagy ayy fo Is pi ay 

















Aa & 
7 toe } f= 


ek, 


Going and Coming 13 





or eight miles to La Goulette, a veritable Ital- 
ian fishing village in Africa which the Italian 
population themselves call La Goletta. Here 
the pilot is sent ashore, — he was a useless per- 
sonage anyway, but he touches a hundred and 
fifty frances for standing on the bridge and 
doing nothing, — the ship turns a sharp right 
angle and sets its course northward for Mar- 
seilles, leaving Korbus and the great double- 
horned mountain far in the distance to star- 
board. 

Carthage and its cathedral, and Sidi-bou- 
Said and its minarets are to port, the red soil 
forming a rich frame for the scintillating white 
walls scattered here and there over the land- 
scape. La Marsa and the Bey’s summer palace 
loom next in view, Cap Carthage and Cap Bon, 
and then the open sea. 

Midway between Tunis and Marseilles, one 
sees the red porphyry rocks of Sardinia. Off- 
shore are the little isles which terminate the 
greater island, the ‘‘ Taureau,’’ the ‘‘ Vache ”’ 
and the ‘‘ Veau.’’ They are only interesting 
as landmarks, and look like the outcrop- 
pings of other Mediterranean islands. In bad 
weather the mariners give them a wide berth. 

The sight of Sardinia makes no impression 
on the French passengers. They stare at 1, 


14 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


and remark it not. The profound contempt of 
the Frenchman of the Midi for all things Ital- 
ian is to be remarked. Corsica is left to star- 
board, still farther away, in fact not visible, 
but the Frenchman apparently does not regret 
this either, even though it has become a French 
Département. ‘* Peuh: la Corse,’’ he says, 
‘““un vilain pays,’’ where men pass their ex- 
istence killing each other off. Such is the out- 
come of traditional, racial rancour, and yet the 
most patriotic Frenchman the writer has ever 
known was a Corsican. 

‘“ Void! le Cap Sicié!’’ said the command- 
ant the second morning at ten o’clock, as he 
stood on the bridge straining his eyes for a 
sight of land. We didn’t see it, but we took 
his word for it. A quarter of an hour later it 
came into view, the great landmark promon- 
tory, which juts out into the Mediterranean 
just west of Toulon. 

Just then with a swish and a swirl, and with 
as icy a breath as ever blew south from the 
snow-clad Alps, down came the mistral upon 
us, and we all went below and passed the most 
uncomfortable five hours imaginable, anchored 
off the Estaque, in full view of Marseilles, and 
yet not able to enter harbour. The Gulf of 


Going and Coming 1a) 


Lyons and the mistral form an irresistible com- 
bination of forces once they get together. 

At last in port; the dowanier keeps a sharp 
lookout for cigars and cigarettes (which in 
Algeria and Tunisia sell for about a quarter of 
what they do in France), and in a quarter of 
an hour we are installed in that remarkably 
equipped ‘‘ Touring Hotel ’’ of Marseilles’ 
Cours Belzunce. Art nouveau furniture, no 
heavy rugs or draperies, metallic bedsteads, 
and hot and cold running water in every room. 
This is a good deal to find on this side of the 
Atlantic. The house should be made note of 
by all coming this way. Not in the palace ho- 
tels of Algiers, Biskra or Tunis can you find 
such a combination. 


CHAPTER II 
THE REAL NORTH AFRICA 


‘* Africque apporte tousjours quelque chose de nouveau.” 

— RABELAIS 

Auceria and Tunisia are already the vogue, 
and Biskra, Hammam-R’hira and Mustapha 
are already names as familiar as Cairo, Amalfi 
or Teneriffe, even though the throng of ‘‘ colts 
vwants expédiés par Cook,’’ as the French call 
them, have not as yet overrun the land. For 
the most part the travellers in these delightful 
lands, be they Americans, English or Germans 
(and the Germans are almost as numerous as 
the others), are strictly unlabelled, and each 
goes about his own affairs, one to Tlemcen to 
paint the Moorish architecture of its mosques, 
another to Biskra for his health, and another 
to Tunis merely to while away his time amid 
exotic surroundings. 

This describes well enough the majority of 
travellers here, but the other categories are 
Increasing every day, and occasionally a 
‘* tourist-steamship ’’ drops down three or four 

16 


The Real North Africa 17 


hundred at one fell swoop on the quais of Al- 
giers or Tunis, and then those cities become 
as the Place de l’Opéra, or Piccadilly Circus. 
These tourists only skirt the fringe of this in- 
teresting land, and after thirty-six hours or 
so go their ways. 

One does not become acquainted with the 
real North Africa in any such fashion. 

The picturesque is everywhere in Algeria 
and Tunisia, and the incoming manners and 
eustoms of outre-mer only make the contrast 
more remarkable. It is not the extraordinary 
thing that astonishes us to-day, for there is no 
more virgin land to exploit as a touring-ground. 
It is the rubbing of shoulders with the dwellers 
in foreign lands who, after all, are human, and 
have relatively the same desires as ourselves, 
which they often satisfy in a different manner, 
that makes travel enjoyable. 

What Nubian and Arab Africa will become 
later, when European races have still further 
blended the centuries-old tropical and sub- 
tropical blood in a gentle assimilated adapta- 
tion of men and things, no one can predict. 
The Arab has become a very good engineer, 
the Berber can be trained to become a respec- 
table herder of cattle, as the Egyptian fellah 
has been made into a good farmer, or a motor- 


18 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





man on the electric railway from Cairo to the 
Pyramids. 

What the French eall the ‘‘ Empire Euro- 
péen ’’ is bound to envelop Africa some day, 
and France will be in for the chief part in the 
division without question. The French seem 
to understand the situation thoroughly; and, 
with the storehouse of food products (Algeria 
and Tunisia, and perhaps by the time these 
lines are printed, Morocco) at her very door, 
she is more than fortunately placed with re- 
gard to the development of this part of Africa. 
The individual German may come and do a 
little trading on his own account, but it is 
France as a nation that is going to prosper 
out of Africa. This is the one paramount as- 
pect of the real North Africa of to-day as it 
has been for some generations past, a fact 
which the Foreign Offices of many powers have 
overlooked. 

It is a pity that the whole gamut of the cur- 
rent affairs of North Africa is summed up in 
many minds by the memory of the palpably 
false sentiment of the school of. fictionists which 
began with Ouida. Let us hope it has ended, 
for the picturing of the local colour of Medi- 
terranean and Saharan Africa is really beyond 
the romancer who writes love-stories for the 


The Real North Africa 19 





young ladies of the boarding-schools, and the 
new women of the art nouveau boudoirs. The 
lithe, dreamy young Arab of fiction, who falls 
in love with lonesome young women en voyage 
alone to some tourist centre, is purely a myth. 
There is not a real thing about him, not even 
his clothes, much less his sentiments; and he 
and his picturesque natural surroundings jar 
horribly against each other at best. 

The Cigarette of ‘‘ Under Two Flags ’’ was 
not even a classically conventional figure, but 
simply a passionate, tumultuous creature, lov- 
able only for her inconsistencies, which in real- 
ity were nothing African in act or sentiment, 
though that was her environment. 

The English lord who became a ‘‘ Chasseur 
d’Afrique ’’ was even more unreal — he wasn’t 
a ‘‘ Chasseur d’Afrique,’’ anyway, he was sim- 
ply a member of the ‘‘ Légion Etrangére; ’”’ but 
doubtless Ouida cared less for minutely pre- 
cise detail than she did to exploit her uncon- 
ventional convictions. The best novels of to- 
day are something our parents never dreamed 
of! Exclamations and exhortations of the 
characters of ‘‘ Under Two Flags,’’ ‘‘ Mon 
Amour,’’ ‘‘ Ma Patrie,’’ ‘‘ Les Enfants,’’ are 
not African. They belong to the parasite fau- 
bourgs of Paris’ fortifications. Let no one 


20 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


make the mistake, then, of taking this crop of 
North African novels for their guide and men- 
tor. Much better go with Cock and be done 
with it, if one lacks the initiative to launch out 
for himself, and make the itinerary by railway, 
diligence and caravan. If he will, one can 
travel by diligence all over Mediterranean Af- 
rica, and by such a means of locomotion he will 
best see and know the country. 

The diligence of the plain and mountain 
roads of Algeria and Tunisia is as remarkable 
a structure as still rolls on wheels. Its coun- 
terpart does not exist to-day in France, Swit- 
zerland or Italy. It is generally driven by a 
portly Arab, with three wheelers and four lead- 
ers, seven horses in all. It is made up of many 
compartments and stories. There is a rez-de- 
chaussée, a mezzanine floor and a roof garden, 
with prices varying accordingly as comfort in- 
creases or decreases. <A fifty or a hundred 
kilometre journey therein, or thereon, is an 
experience one does not readily forget. To 
begin with, one usually starts at an hour vary- 
ing from four to seven in the morning, an hour 
which, even in Algeria, in winter, is dark and 
chill. 

The stage-driver of the ‘‘ Far West’’ is a 
fearsome, capable individual, but the Arab 


The Real North Africa 21 


6 b) 


conductor of a “‘ voiture publique,’’ with a 
rope-wound turban on his head, a flowing, en- 
tangling burnous, and a five-yard whip, can 
take more chances in getting around corners 
or down a sharp incline than any other coach- 
driver that ever handled the ribbons. Some- 
times he has an assistant who handles a shorter 
whip, and belabours it over the backs of the 
wheelers, when additional risks accrue. Some- 
times, even, this is not enough and the man- 
at-the-wheel jumps down and runs alongside, 
slashing viciously at the flying heels of the 
seven horse power, after which he crawls up 
aloft and dozes awhile. 
- Under the hood of the impériale is stowed 
away as miscellaneous a lot of baggage as one 
can imagine, including perhaps a dozen fowls, 
a sheep or two, or even a calf. Amidst all this, 
three or four cross-legged natives wobble and 
lurch as the equipage makes its perilsome way. 
Down below everything is full, too; so that, 
with its human freight of fifteen or sixteen per- 
sons, and the unweighed kilos of merchandise 
on the roof, the journey may well be described 
as being fraught with possibilities of disaster. 
There is treasure aboard, too,—a strong-box 
bolted to the floor beneath the drivers’ feet; 
and at the rear a weather-proof cast-iron let- 


22 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





ter-box, padlocked tight and only opened at 
wayside post-offices. The sequestered colonist, 
living far from the rail or post, has his only 
communication with the outside world through 
the medium of this mobile bureau de poste. 

The roads of Algeria and Tunisia are mar- 
vellously good — where they exist. The Arab 
roads and routes of old were simple trails, trod 
down in the herb-grown, sandy soil by the bare 
feet of men, or camels, or the hoofs of horses 
and mules. So narrow were these trails that 
two caravans could not pass each other, so 
there were two trails, like the steamship 
‘‘ lanes ’’ of the Atlantic. 

Tradition still prompts the Kabyles to march 
in single file on the sixteen metre wide high- 
roads, which now cross and recross their coun- 
try, the results of a beneficent French ad- 
ministration. Morocco some day will come in 
line. 

In Tunisia the roads are as good as they are 
in Algeria, and they are many and being added 
to yearly. 

There are still to be seen, in the interior, 
little pyramids of stones, perhaps made up of 
tens of thousands, or a hundred thousand even, 
of desert pebbles, each unit placed by some de- 
voted traveller who has recalled that on that 


The Real North Africa 93 


spot occurred the death, or perhaps murder, 
of some pioneer. The Arabs call these monu- 
ments Nza, and would not think for a moment 
of passing one by without making their offer- 
ing. It is a delicate, natural expression of sen- 
timent, and one that might well be imitated. 

There is no more danger to the tourist trav- 
elling through Algeria and Tunisia by road 
than there would be in France or Italy — and 
considerably less than might be met with in 
Spain. There are some brigands and robbers 
left hiding in the mountains, perhaps, but their 
raids are on flocks and herds, and not for the 
mere dross of the gold of tourists, or the gaso- 
lene of automobilists. The desert lion is a myth 
of Tartarinesque poets and artists, and one is 
not likely to meet anything more savage than 
a rabbit or a hedgehog all the fifteen hundred 
or two thousand kilometres from Tlemcen to 
Gabés. 

The African lion is a dweller only in the 
forest-grown mountains; and the popular be- 
lief that it can track for weeks across the des- 
ert, drinking only air, and eating only sand, is 
pure folly of the romantic brand perpetuated 
by the painter Gérome. 

During the last ten years, in all Algeria there 
were killed only : — 


24 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





Lions and lionesses and cubs 181 
Panthers 988 
Hyenas 1,485 
Jackals 22,619 


It may be taken for granted, then, that there 
are no great dangers to be experienced on the 
well-worn roads and pistes of Tunisia and Al- 
geria. The hyenas and lions are hidden away 
in the great mountain fastnesses, and the jack- 
als themselves are harmless enough so far as 
human beings are concerned. The sanglier, or 
wild boar, is savage enough if attacked when 
met with, otherwise it is he who flees, whilst 
the jack-rabbits and the gazelles make up the 
majority of the ‘‘ savage life ’’ seen contigu- 
ous to the main travelled roads away from the 
railways. 

Scorpions and horned vipers are everywhere 
—if one looks for them, otherwise one scarcely 
ever sees one or the other. The greatest enemy 
of mankind hereabouts is the flea; and, as the 
remedy is an obvious and personal one, no 
more need be said. Another plague is the 
ericket, grasshopper or sauterelle. The sau- 
terelle, says the Arab, is the wonder among 
nature’s living things. It has the face of a 
horse, the eyes of an elephant, the neck of a 
bull, the horns of a deer, the breast of a lion, 


The Real North Africa 25 


the stomach of a scorpion, the legs of an os- 
trich, the tail of a snake, and is more to be 
feared than any of the before enumerated 
menagerie. It all but devastated the chief 
wheat-growing lands of the plateaux of the 
provinces of Alger and Constantine a genera- 
tion or more ago, and brought great misery 
in its wake. 

The scorpion and the gazelle are the two 
chief novelties among living things (after the 
camel) with which the stranger makes ac- 
quaintance here. The former is unlovely but 
not dangerous. ‘‘ Il pique, mais ne mord pas,’’ 
say the French; but no one likes to find them 
in his shoes in the morning all the same. The 
gazelle is more likable, a gentle, endearing 
creature, with great liquid eyes, such as poets 
attribute to their most lovely feminine crea- 
tions. ay A ee 
~The gazelle is an attribute of all fountain 
courtyards. It lives and thrives in captivity, 
can be tamed to follow you like a dog, and is 
as affectionate as a caressing kitten. It will 
eat condensed milk, dates, cabbage and cigar- 
ettes; but it balks at Pear’s soap. 

In the open country the nomad Arab or even 
the house-dweller that one meets by the road- 
side is an agreeable, willing person, and when 


26 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


he understands French (as he frequently does), 
he is quite as ‘‘ useful ’’ as would be his Euro- 
pean prototype under similar conditions. The 
country Arab is courteous, for courtesy’s sake, 
moreover, and not for profit. This is not apt 
to be the case in the cities and towns. 

The Arab speech of the ports and railway 
cities and towns is of the solicitous kind. One 
ean’t learn anything here of phraseology that 
will be useful to him in the least and it’s bad 
French. ‘* Sidi mousit! Mot porter! Mor 
forsa besef!’’ is nothing at all, though it is 
eloquent, and probably means that the gamin, 
old or young, wants to carry your baggage or 
call a cab. And for this you pay in Algiers 
and Tunis as you pay in London or Paris, but 
you are not blackmailed as you are in Alex- 
andria or Cairo. 

One may not rest two minutes on the terrace 
of any café in a large Algerian town without 
having an Arab, a Kabyle, or a Jewish raga- 
muffin come up and bawl at one incessantly, 
“Cin, cirt, crt!’’ Tf you have just left your 
hotel, your boots brilliant as jet from the best 
Algerian substitute for ‘‘ Day & Martin’s 
Best,’’ it doesn’t matter in the least; they still 
ery, ‘‘ Cort, cirt, cirt, m’stou!’’ Sometimes it 
is, ‘‘ Ciri bien, m’siou! ’’ and sometimes ‘‘ Cirt, 


The Real North Africa a 


kif, kif la glace de Paris!’’ But the object of 
their plaint is always the same. Finally, if 
you won’t let them dull the polish of your shine, 
they will cire their faces and demand “‘ quat’ 
sous ’’ from you because you witnessed the op- 





eration. Very businesslike are the shoeblacks 
of Algiers; they don’t mind what they cire as 
long as they cire something. 

The Café d’Apollon in Algiers is the rendez- 
vous of the ‘‘ high-life Arab.’’ Here Sheiks 
from the deserts’ great tents, Caids from the 


28 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





settlements, and others of the vast army of 
great and small Arab officialdom assemble to 
take an afternoon bock or apéritif; for in spite 
of his religion the Mussulman will sometimes 
drink beer and white wine. Some, too, are 
‘* decorated,’’ and some wear even the ruban 
or bouton of the Legion of Honour on their 
chests where that otherwise useless buttonhole 
of the coat of civilization would be. Grim, 
taciturn figures are these, whose only exclama- 
tion is a mechanical clacking of the lips or a 
cynical, gurgling chuckle coming from deep 
down, expressive of much or little, according 
as much or little is meant. 

The foreign population in Algeria and Tu- 
nisia is very mixed; and though all nationali- 
ties mingle in trade the foreigners will not 
become naturalized to any great extent. Out 
of forty-one naturalized foreigners in Tunis in 
1891, 27 were Italians, 2 Alsatians, 2 Luxem- 
bourgeois, 2 Maltese, 1 German, | Belgian, 1 
Moroccan, and 5 individuals of undetermined 
nationality. | 

Civilization and progress has marked North 
Africa for exploitation, but it will never over- 
turn Mohammedanism. The trail of Islam is 
a long one and plainly marked. From the 
Moghreb to the Levant and beyond extends the 


The Real North Africa 29 


memory and tradition of Moorish civilization 
of days long gone by. The field is unlimited, 
and ranges from the Giralda of Andalusia 
to the Ottoman mosques of the Dardanelles, 
though we may regret, with all the Arab beets 


AFRICA 





and historians, the decadence of Granada more 
than all else. The Arab-Moorish overrunning 
of North Africa defined an epoch full of the 
incident of romance, whatever may have been 
the cruelties of the barbarians. This period 
endured until finally the sombre cities of the 


30 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


corsairs became the commercial capitals of to- 
day, just as glorious Carthage became a resi- 
dential suburb of Tunis. The hand of time has 
left its mark plainly imprinted on all Mediter- 
ranean Africa, and not even the desire for up- 
to-dateness on the part of its exploiters will 
ever efface these memories, nor further dese- 
erate the monuments which still remain. 

The French African possessions include 
more than a third of the continent, an area con- 
siderably more extensive than the United 
States, Alaska, Porto Rico, and the Philippines 
combined. One hears a lot about the develop- 
ment of the British sphere of influence in Af- 
rica; but not much concerning that of the 
French which, since the unhappy affair of Fa- 
shoda, has been more active than ever. The 
French are not the garrulous nation one some- 
times thinks them. They have a way of doing 
things, and saying nothing, which is often 
fraught with surprises for the outside world. 
Perhaps Moroceo and Tripoli de Barbarie may 
come into the fold some day; and, then, with 
the French holding the railways of Egypt and 
the Suez Canal, as at present, they will cer- 
tainly be the dominant Mediterranean and Af- 
rican power, if they may not be reckoned so 
already. 


The Real North Africa 31 


The Saharan desert is French down to its 
last grain of sand and the last oasis palm-tree, 
and it alone has an area half the size of the 
United States. | 

Of Mediterranean French Africa, Tunisia is 
a protectorate, but almost as absolutely gov- 
erned by the French as if it were a part of the 
Ile de France. Algérie is a part of France, 
a Department across the seas like Corse. It 
holds its own elections and has three senators 
and six deputies at Paris. Its governor-gen- 
eral is a Frenchman (usually promoted from 
the Préfecture of some mainland Département) 
and most of the officialdom and bureaucracy 
are French. 

Trade between Algeria and France, mostly 
in wines and food stuffs on one side, and manu- 
factured products on the other, approximates 
three hundred millions of franes in each di- 
rection. Algeria, ‘‘la belle Algérie,’’ as the 
French fondly call it, is not a mere strip of 
mountain land and desert. It is one of the 
richest agricultural lands on earth, running 
eastward from the Moroccan frontier well over 
into Tunisia; and, for ages, it has been known 
as the granary of Europe. The Carthaginians 
and the Pheenicians built colonies and empires 


32 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


here, and Rome was nourished from its wheat- 
fields and olive-groves. 

The wheat of Africa was revered by the Ro- . 
mans of the capital above all others. One of 
the pro-consuls sent Augustus a little packet 
of four hundred grains, all grown from one sole 
seed, whereupon great national granaries were 
built and the commerce in the wheat of Africa 
took on forthwith almost the complexion of a 
monopoly. The sowing and the harvest were 
most primitive. ‘‘ I have seen,’’ wrote Pliny 
(H.N. XVIII, 21), ‘‘ the sowing and the reap- 
ing accomplished here by the aid of a prim- 
itive plough, an old woman and a tiny donkey.’’ 
The visitor may see the same to-day! 

At the moment of the first autumn rains the 
Arab or Berber cultivator works over his soil, 
or sets his wives on the job, and sows his win- 
ter wheat. The planting finished, the small 
Arab farmer seeks the sunny side of a wall and 
basks there, watching things grow, smoking 
much tobacco and drinking much coffee, each of 
these narcotics very black and strong. Four 
months later his ample, or meagre, crop comes 
by chance. Then he flays it, not by means of 
a flail swung by hand, but by borrowing a little 
donkey from some neighbour,—if he hasn’t 


The Real North Africa ao 


one of his own,—and letting the donkey’s 
hoofs trample it out. Now he takes it —or 
most likely sends it — to market, and his year’s 
work is done. He rolls over to the shady side 
of his gourbi (the sunny side is getting too 
warm) and loafs along until another autumn. 
He might grow maize in the interval, but he 
doesn’t. 

The Barbary fig, or prickly-pear cactus, is 
everywhere in Algeria and Tunisia. It grows 
wild by the roadside, in great fields, and as a 
barrier transplanted to the top of the universal 
mud walls. Frost is its only enemy. Every- 
thing and everybody else flees before it except 
the native who eats its spiny, juicy bulbs and 
finds them good. The rest of us only find the 
spines, and throw the fruit away in disgust 
when we attempt to taste it. The Barbary fig 
is the Arab’s sole food supply when crops fail, 
the only thing which stands between. him and 
starvation — unless he steals dates or figs from 
some richer man’s plantation. The Arab’s 
wants are not great, and with fifty francs and 
some ingenuity he can live a year. 

The palm-trees of Africa number scores of 
varieties, but those of the Mediterranean states 
and provinces, the date-bearing palm, come 


34 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


within three well-defined classes: the Phania- 
dactylifera, the chamaerops-humilis and the 
cucifera-thebaica. 

Even the smallest Arab proprietor of land 
or sheep or goats pays taxes. The French 
leave its collection to the local Caids or Sheiks, 
but it gets into the official coffers ultimately, 
—or most of it does. | 

In Algeria there are four principal taxes, or 
wmpots: 

The Achour on cereals; the Zeka, on sheep 
and cattle to-day, but originally a tax collected 
for the general good, as prescribed by the 
Koran; the Hokar (in Constantine), a tax on 
land; the Lezma, the generic term for various 
contributions, such as the right to carry fire- 
arms (the only tax levied in Kabylie), and the 
tax on date-palms in the Sud-Algerie and Sud- 
Oranais. The Arab carries a gun only after 
he gets a permit, which he must show every 
time he buys powder or shot. 

In Tunisia the taxes are much the same; but 
there is a specific tax on olive-trees as well as 
date-palms, and on the markets and the prod- 
ucts sold there. 

The wines of Algeria and Tunisia are the 
product of foreign vines whose roots were 
transplanted here but little more than half a 


The Real North Africa 35 


eentury ago. These vines came from all parts, 
from France, Switzerland, Spain, Italy, Malta 
and America; and now the ‘ vin d’ Algérie ”’ 
goes out to the ends of the earth, — usually 
under the name of a cru more famous. It is 
very good wine nevertheless, this rich, hybrid 
juice of the grape; and, though the Provencal 
of Chateauneuf, the sons of the Aude, the 
Garde and the Hérault, or the men of Rous- 
sillon do not recognize Algerian wine as a 
worthy competitor of their own vintages, it is 
such all the same. And the Peroximen, sup- 
posed to be a product only of Andalusia, and 
the Muscatel of Alexandria, are very nearly as 
good grown on Algerian soil as when gathered 
in the place of their birth. 

The ‘‘ vin rosé ’’ of Kolea, the really superb 
wines of Médea, and the ‘‘ vin blanc de Car- 
thage,’’ should carry the fame of these North 
African vintages to all who are, or think they 
are, judges of good wine. 

With such a rich larder at their very doors, 
the medieval Mediterranean nations were in a 
constant quarrel over its possession. Vandals 
and Greeks fought for the right to populate 
it after the Romans, but the Moorish wave was 
too strong; the Arab crowded the Berber to 
the wall and made him a Mussulman instead 


36 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


of a Christian, a religious faith which the 
French have held inviolate so far as prosely- 
tizing goes. It is this one fundamental prin- 
ciple which has done mueh to make the French 
rule in Algeria the success that it is. Britain 
should leave religion out of her colonizing 
schemes if she would avoid the unrest which 
is continually cropping up in various parts of 
the empire; and the United States should leave 
the friars of the Philippines alone, and let them 
grow fat if they will, and develop the country 
on business lines. We are apt to think that 
the French are slow in business matters, but 
they get results sometimes in an astonishingly 
successful manner, and by methods which they 
copy from no one. 

The ports of Algeria and Tunisia are of 
great antiquity. The Romans, not content with 
the natural advantages offered as harbours, 
frequently cut them out of the soft rock itself, 
or built out jetties or quais, as have all dock 
engineers since when occasion demanded. 
There are vestiges of these old Roman quais 
at Bougie, at Collo, at Cherchell, at Stora and 
at Bona. These Roman works, destroyed or 
abandoned at the Vandal invasion, were never 
rebuilt; and the great oversea traders of the 
Italian Republics, of France and of Spain, 


The Real North Africa By; 


merely hung around offshore and transacted 
their business, as do the tourist steamers at 
Jaffa to-day, while their personally conducted 
hordes descend upon Jerusalem and the Jordan. 

The Barbary pirates had little inlets and out- 
lets which they alone knew, and flitted in and 
out of on their nefarious projects; but only at 
Algiers, until in comparatively recent times, 
were there any ports or harbours, legitimately 
so called, in either Algeria or Tunisia, though 
the Spaniards, when in occupation of Oran in 
the eighteenth century, made some inefficient 
attempts towards waterside improvements of 
a permanent character. 

Jn thinking of North Africa it is well to re- 
eall that it is not a tropical belt, nor even a 
subtropical one. It is very like the climate of 
the latitude of Washington, though perhaps 
with less rain in winter. It is not for a moment 
to be compared wih California or Bermuda. 

The temperature on the Algerian coast 1s 
normally as follows: — 


Winter, 11°-12° centigrade Summer, 25° centigrade 
Spring, 15°-16° centigrade Autumn, 19°-20° centigrade 
Average yearly, 17°-18° centigrade 


As compared with the temperature of the 
French Riviera, taking Nice as an example, the 


38 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


balance swings in favour of Algeria in winter, 
and a trifle against it for summer, as the fol- 
lowing figures show: — 


Winter, 9° centigrade Summer, 23° centigrade 
Spring, 17° centigrade Autumn, 18° centigrade 
Yearly average, 16° centigrade 


One pertinent observation on North Africa 
is that regarding the influx of outside eivilizing 
influences. The American invasion of manu- 
factured products is here something consider- 
able; but as yet it has achieved nothing like 
its possibilities, save perhaps in electrical 
tramway installation, sewing machines and 
five-gallon tins of kerosene. The French have 
got North Africa, mostly; the Germans the 
trade in cutlery; the English (or the Seotch) 
that in whiskey and marmalade; but the Amer- 
ican shipments of ‘‘ Singers ’’ and ‘‘ Stand- 
ards ’’ must in total figures swamp any of the 
other single ‘‘ foreign imports ’’ in value. One 
does not speak of course of imports from 
France. As the argument of the dealers, who 
push the sewing-machine into the desert gour- 
bis of the nomads and the mountain dwellings 
of the Kabyles, has it, the civilizing influences 
of Algeria have been railways, public schools 
and ‘‘ Singers.’’ What progressive Arab could 


The Real North Africa 39 


be expected to resist such an argument for 
progress, with easy-payment terms of a france a 
week as the chief inducement? The only ob- 
jection seems to be that his delicately fash- 
ioned, creamy, woollen burnous of old is fast 
becoming a ready-made ‘‘ lock-stitch ’’ affair, 
which lacks the loving marks of the real hand- 
made article. Other things from America are 
agricultural machinery, ice-cream freezers, oil- 
stoves, corn meal, corned beef, salmon from 
Seattle, and pickles from Bunker Hill. As yet 
the trade in these ‘‘ staples ’’ is infinitesimal 
when compared with what it might be if 
‘“ pushed,’’ which it is not because all these 
things come mostly through London warehouse 
men, who ‘‘ push ’’ something else when they 
can. 

A few things America will not be able to sell 
in North Africa are boots and shoes, the Arab 
wears his neatly folded down at the heel, and 
ours are not that kind; nor socks, nor stock- 
ings, the Arab buys a gaudy ‘‘ near-silk,’’ made 
in the Vosges, when he buys any, and the 
women don’t wear them; nor hats, though a 
Stetson, No. 7, would please them mightily, all 
but the price. There is no demand for folding- 
beds or elastic bookcases. The Arab sleeps on 
the floor, and the only book he possesses, if he 


40 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


ean read, is a copy of the Koran, which he tucks 
away inside his burnous and carries about with 
him everywhere. Chairs he has no need for; 
when the Arab doesn’t he or huddle on the 
ground, he sits dangle-legged or cross-legged 
on a bench, which is a home-made affair. The 
women mostly squat on their heels, which looks 
uncomfortable, but which they seem to enjoy. 

Besides the American invasion, there is the 
German occupation to reckon with — in a trade 
sense. | 

‘‘ Those terrible Germans,’’ is a newspaper 
phrase of recent coinage which is applicable to 
almost any reference to the German trade inva- 
sion of every country under the sun, save per- 
haps the United States and Canada. In South 
America, in Russia, and in the African Medi- 
terranean States and Provinces, the Teuton has 
pushed his trading instincts to the utmost. He 
may be no sort of a colonizer himself, but he 
knows how to sell goods. In North Africa, in 
the coast towns, over a thousand German firms 
have established themselves within the last ten 
years, all the way from Tangier to Port Said. 
This may mean little or nothing to the offhand 
thinker; but when one recalls that the black- 
amoor and the Arab have learned to use 
matches and folding pocket-knives, and have 


The Real North Africa 41 


even been known to invest in talking machines, 
it is also well to recall that the German can 
produce these things, ‘‘ machine-made,’’ and 
market them cheaper than any other nation. 
For this reason he floods the market, where 
the taste is not too critical, and the ery is here 
for cheapness above all things. This is the 
Arab’s point of view, hence the increasing 
hordes of German traders. 

To show the German is indefatigable, and 
that he knows North Africa to its depths, the 
cease of the late German consul at Cairo, Paul 
Gerhard, who wrote a monumental work on the 
butterflies of North Africa, is worth recalling. 


CHAPTER III 
ALGERIA OF TO - DAY 


‘¢ Le coq Gaulois est le coq de la gloire. 
Il chante bien fort quand il gagne une victoire 
Et encore plus fort quand il est battu.’’ 

ALGERIA 18 by no means savage Africa, even 
though its population is mostly indigéne. It 
forms a ‘‘ circonscription académique ’’ of 
France. It has a national observatory, a 
branch of that at Paris, founded in 1858; a 
school of medicine and pharmacy; a school of 
law; a faculty of letters and sciences, and three 
endowed chairs of Arabic, at Algiers (founded 
in 1836); Oran (1850) and Constantine (1858). 

Algeria has a great future in store, although 
it has cost France 8,593,000,000 frances since its 
occupation seventy years ago, and has only pro- 
duced a revenue of 2,330,000,000 francs, which 
represents the loss of a sum greater than the 
war indemnity of 1870. The Algerian budget 
balanced for the first time in 1901 without sub- 
sidies from home. 

The entire population of Algeria is 4,124,732, 
of which 3,524,000 are Arabs, Kabyles or Ber- 

42 


7 Montenotte 


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Algeria of To-day 43 


bers, and the subdivided races hereafter men- 
tioned, leaving in the neighbourhood of 600,- 
000 Europeans, whose numbers are largely in- 
creasing each year. 

The rate of increase of the European popu- 
lation, from 1836, when the French first occu- 
pied the country, has been notable. In 1836 
there were 14,561 Europeans in the colony; in 
1881, 423,881, of which 233,937 were French, 
112,047 Spanish, and 31,865 Italians, and to- day 
the figure is over 600,000. 

The Arab and Berber population, too, are 
notably increasing; they are not disappearing 
like the red man. From 2,320,000, in 1851, they 
have increased, in 1891, to 3,524,000. 

In addition to the Arab and Berber popu- 
lation of Algeria, and the ‘‘ foreigners ’’ and 
Europeans, there are the following: 

Moors — (90,500), the mixed issue of the 
Berbers and all the races inhabiting Algeria. 

Koulouglis — (20,000), born of Turks and 
Moorish women. 

Jews — (47,667), who by the decree of 1870 
were made French. (This does not include 
unnaturalized Jews.) 

Negroes — (5,000), the former slaves who 
were freed in 1848. 

The French colonist in Algeria, the man on 


44 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


the spot, understands the Arab question better 
than the minister and officials of the Colonial 
Office of the Pavillon Sully, though the French 
have succeeded in making of Algeria what they 
have never accomplished with their other colo- 
nies—a paying proposition at last. Still 
France governs Algeria under a sort of ‘‘ up- 
the-state,’’ ‘‘ Raines-law ’’ rule, and treats the 
indigene of Laghouat. or Touggourt as they 
would a boatman of Pontoise or a farm la- 
bourer of Etampes. The French colonial howls 
against all the mistakes and indiscretions of a 
‘‘ Boulevard Government ’’ for the Sahara, 
and even revile the Governor General, whom 
he calls a civilian dressed up in military garb 
and no governor at all. Que diable! This sa- 
vours of partisanship and politics, but it is an 
echo of what one hears as ‘‘ café talk’’ any 
time he opens his ears in Algiers. 

All is peace and concord within, however, in 
spite of the small talk of the cafés; and the 
Arab and European live side by side, each en- 
joying practically the same rights and protec- 
tion that they would if they lived in suburban 
Paris. 

The Caid or Sheik or head man of a tribe 
is the go-between in all that concerns the affairs 
of the native with the French government. 


3: 





Touggourt 





Algeria of To-day 45 


The name Caid was formerly given to the 
governors of the provinces of the Barbary 
States, but to-day that individual has abso- 
lutely disappeared, though he still remains as 
an. administrator of French law, under the sur- 
veillance of the military government. In real- 
ity the Caid still remains the official head- of 
his tribe, and in this position is sustained by 
the French authorities. 

The Arab has adopted the new order of 
things very graciously, but he can’t get over 
his ancient desire to hoard gold; and, for that 
reason, no Algerian gold coin exists, and there 
is no gold in circulation to speak of. The Arab, 
when he gets it, buries it, forgets where, or dies 
and forgets to tell any one where, which is the 
same thing, and thus a certain very consider- 
able amount is lost to circulation. 

Paper money, in values of twenty and fifty 
francs, takes the place of gold; the Arab thinks 
that it is something that is perishable, and ac- 
cordingly spends it and keeps the country pros- 
perous. The French understand the Arab and 
his foibles; there is no doubt about that. They 
solved the question of a circulating currency 
in Algeria. New York and Washington repre- 
sentatives of haute finance might take a few 
lessons here. 


46 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


With regard to the money question, the 
stranger in Algeria must beware of false and 
non-current coin. Anything that’s a coin looks 
good to an Arab, and for that reason a large 
amount of spurious stuff is in circulation. It 
was originally made by counterfeiters to gull 
the native, but to-day the stranger gets his 
share, or more than his share. 

To replace the gold ‘‘ lowis ’’ of France, the 
Banque d’Algérie issues ‘‘ shin-plasters ’’ of 
twenty francs. They are convenient, but one 
must get rid of them before leaving the country 
or else sell them to a money changer at a dis- 
count. These Algerian bank-notes now pass 
current in Tunisia, a branch of the parent bank 
having recently been opened there. 

The commercial possibilities of Algeria have 
hardly, as yet, begun to be exploited, though 
the wine and wheat-growing lands are highly 
developed; and, since their opening, have suf- 
fered no lack of prosperity, save for a plague 
of phylloxera which set back the vines on one 
occasion, and a plague of locusts which one day 
devastated almost the entire region of the 
wheat-growing plateaux. It was then the 
Arabs became locust-eaters, though indeed they 
are not become a cult as in Japan. With the 


Algeria of To-day 47 


Arab it was a case of eating locusts or nothing, 
for there was no grain. 

This plague of locusts fell upon the prov- 
ince of Constantine in 1885, and from La- 
ghouat to Bou-Saada, and from Kenchela to 
Aumale they were brought in myriads by the 
sirocco of the desert from no one knows where. 

For two years these great cereal-growing 
areas were cleared of their crops as though a 
wild-fire had passed over them, until finally the 
government by strenuous efforts, and the em- 
ployment of many thousands of labourers, was 
able to control and arrest the march of the 
plague. 

During this period many of the new colonists 
saw their utmost resources disappear; but gal- 
lantly they took up their task anew, and for 
the past dozen years only occasional slight re- 
currences of the pest have been noted, and they, 
fortunately, have been suppressed as they ap- 
peared. 

Besides wheat and wine, tobacco is an almost 
equal source of profit to Algeria. In France 
no one may grow a tobacco plant, even as an 
embellishment to his garden-plot, without first 
informing the excise authorities, who, after- 
wards, will come around periodically and count 


48 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


the leaves. In Africa the tobacco crop is some- 
thing that brings peace and plenty to any who 
will cultivate it judiciously, for the consump- 
tion of the weed is great. 

Manufactured tobacco is cheap in Algeria. 
Neither cigars, cigarettes nor pipe mixtures, 
nor snuff either, pay any excise duties; and 
even foreign tobaccos, which mostly come from 
Hungary and the Turkish provinces, pay very 
little. 

Two-thirds of the Algerian manufactured 
product is made from home-grown tobacco, and 
a very large quantity of the same is sent to 
France to be sold as ‘‘ Maryland; ’’ though, 
indeed, if the original plants ever came from 
the other side of the water, it was by a very 
roundabout route. Certainly the broom-corn 
tobacco of France does not resemble that of 
Maryland in the least. The hope of France and 
her colonies is to grow all the tobacco consumed 
within her frontiers, whether it is labelled 
“ Maryland,4’7»*“ Turkish ?*,orms‘sScaferlatiog 
The French government puts out some awful 
stuff it ealls tobacco and sells under fancy 
names. : 

The tobacco tax in Algeria is nil, and that on 
wine is nearly so. Four sous a hectolitre (100 


Algeria of To-day 49 


litres) is not a heavy tax to pay, though when 
it was first applied (in 1907) it was the excuse 
for the retail wine dealer (who in Algeria is 
but human, when he seeks to make what profit 
he can) to add two sous to the price of his wine 
per litre. There is a law in France against 
unfair trading, and the same applies to Algeria. 
It has been a dead law in many places for many 
years, but when a tax of four sous a hectolitre, 
originally paid to the state, by the dealer, 
finally came out of the consumer’s pocket as ten 
francs, an increase of 5,000 per cent., popular 
clamour and threats of the law caused the 
dealer to drop back to his original price. This 
is the way Algeria protects its growing wine 
industry. Publicists and economists elsewhere 
should study the system. 

The African landscape is very simple and 
very expressive, severe but not sad, lively but 
not gay. The great level horizon bars the way 
south towards the wastes of the Sahara, and 
the mountains of the Atlas are ever present 
nearer at hand. The desert of romance, le vrai 
désert, is still a long way off; and, though there 
is now a macadamized road to Bou-Saada and 
Biskra, and a railway to Figuig and beyond, 
civilization is still only at the vestibule of the 


50 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





Sahara. The real development and exploita- 
tion of North Africa and its peoples and riches 
is yet to come. 

As for the climate, that of California is 
undoubtedly superior to that of Algeria, but 
the topographical and agricultural character- 
istics are much the same. The greatest dif- 
ference which will be remarked by an American 






FARMING “oc .. 
OLD STYLE 


Be. Memes 1GOT.ce@ 








crossing Algeria from Oran to Souk-Ahras 
will be the distinct ‘‘ foreign note ’’ of the in- 
stallation of its farming communities. Hay- 
stacks are plastered over with mud; carts are 
drawn by mules or horses hitched tandemwise, 
three, four or five on end, and the carts are 
mostly two-wheeled at that. There are no 
fences and no great barns for stocking fodder 
or sheltering cattle; the farmhouses are all of 


Algeria of To-day 51 


stone, bare or stucco-covered, and range in col- 
our from sky-blue to pale pink and vivid yel- 
low. There is some American farming machin- 
ery in use, but the Arab son of the soil still 
largely works with the implements of Biblical 
times. | 

The winter of Algeria is the winter of Syria, 
of Japan, and reminiscent to some extent of 
California; perhaps not so mild on the whole, 
but still something of an approach thereto. 
Another contrast favourable to California is 
that in Algeria there is a lack of certain refine- 
ments of modern travel which are to be had 
in the ‘‘ land of sunshine.’’ Winter, properly 
speaking, does not come to Algeria except on 
the high plateaux of the provinces of Oran, 
Alger and Constantine, and on the mountain 
peaks of the Atlas, and in Kabylie. 

South of Algiers stretches the great plain 
of the Mitidja, which is like no other part of 
the earth’s surface so much as it is like Nor- 
mandy with respect to its prairies, ‘‘ la 
Beauce ’’ for its wheat-fields and its grazing- 
grounds, and the Bordelais for its vineyards. 

At the western extremity of the Mitidja com- 
mence the orange-groves of Blida, the forests 
of olive-trees, and the eucalyptus of La Trappe. 


52 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


The scene is immensely varied and suggestive 
of untold wealth and prosperity at every kilo- 
metre. 

Suburban Algiers is thickly built with villas, 
more or less after the Moorish style, but owned 
by Europeans. Recently the wealthy Arab has 
taken to building his ‘‘ country house ’’ on sim- 
ilar gracious lines; and, when he does, he keeps 
pretty near to accepted Moorish elements and 
details, whereas the European, the colon, or the 
commercant grown rich, carries out his idea on 
the Meudon or St. Cloud plan. The Moorish 
part is all there, but the thing often doesn’t 
hang together. 

To the eastward back of the mountains of 
Kabylie lies the great plateau region of the 
Tell. ! 

The Tell is a region vastly different in man- 
ners and customs from either the desert or the 
Algerian littoral. The manners of the nomad 
of the Sahara here blend into those of the farm- 
ing peasant; but, by the time Batna is reached, 
they become tainted with the commercialism of 
the outside world. At Constantine there is 
much European influence at work, and at the 
seacoast towns of Bona or Philippeville the 
Oriental perfume of the date-palm is lost in 
that of the smells and cosmopolitanism usually 








Algeria of To-day 53 


associated with great seaports. These four 
distinct characteristics mark four distinct re- 
gions of the Numidia of the ancients, to-day 
the wheat-growing region of the Tell. 

The principal mountain peaks in Algeria rise 
to no great heights. Touabet, near Tlemcen, 
is 1,620 metres in height; the highest peak of 
the Grand Kabylie Range, in the province of 
Alger, is 2,308 metres; and Chelia, in Constan- 
tine, 2,328 metres. They are not bold, rugged 
mountains, but rolling, rounded crests, often 
destitute of verdure to the point of desola- 
tion. 

The development of the regions forming the 
hinterland — practically one may so call the 
Sahara —is of constant and assiduous care to 
the authorities. They have done much and are 
doing much more as statistics indicate. 

In the valley of the Oued-Righ and the Ziban, 
one of the most favoured of these borderlands, 
the government statistics of springs and oases 
are as follows (1880-90) :— 


Oases, 88 
Springs, 454 
Palms, 518,000 
Other fruit-trees, 90,000 
Value of crops, 5,500,500 fes. 


Inhabitants, 12,827 


54 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





And as the population increases and fruit- 
growing areas are further developed, the mili- 
tary engineers come along and dig more wells. 

The following average temperatures and 
rainfall show the contrast between various re- 
gions : — 


January August Rainfall 
(Centigrade) (Centigrade) (Millimetres) 
Tlemcen 9.2 26 524 
Mountains Fort Nationale 10.1 27 982 
Constantine io 26 408 
Géryville V.2 25.3 126 
Plateaux Djeefa 7.2 27 6 176 
Tebessa 8.1 PME 251 


It will be noted that, normally, there is very 
little difference in temperature, and a very con- 
siderable difference in rainfall. 

The extreme recorded winter temperatures 
are as follows: — 

1906 Aumale 8° centigrade 


Laghouat 45° & 
1905 Laghouat 7° «“ 


Biskra 47° ‘“ 
1904 Aumale 3° “ 
Tunis 14° ‘“ 


Algeria has something like 3,100 kilometres 
of standard gauge railway, and various light 
railways, or narrow gauge roads, of from ten 
to fifty kilometres in length, aggregating per- 
haps five hundred kilometres more, Railway 


Algeria of To-day 55 


building and development is going on con- 
stantly, but they don’t yet know what an ex- 
press train is, and the sleeping and dining car 
services are almost as bad as they are in Eng- 
land. The real up-to-date sleeping-car has 
electric lights and hot and cold water as well 
as steam heat. They have dreamed of none of 
these things yet in England or Africa. 

The railway is the chief civilizing developer 
of a country. The railway receipts in Algeria 
in 1870 were 2,500,000 franes. In 1900 they 
were 26,000,000 franes. That’s an increase of 
a thousand per cent., and it all came out of the 
country. 

The ‘‘ Routes Nationales ’’ of Algeria (not 
counting by-roads, etec.), the real arteries of 
the life-blood of the country, at the same peri- 
ods numbered almost an equal extent, and they 
are still being built. Give a new country good 
roads and good railways and it is bound to 
prosper. 

Four millions of the total population of Al- 
geria (including something over two hundred 
thousand Europeans) are dependent upon agri- 
eulture for their livelihood. Wheat, wine and 
tobacco rank in importance in the order named. 

The growth of the wine industry has been 
most remarkable. 


56 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


In 1872 4,994,000 gallons were produced 
«1880 9,504,000 « « « 
“ 1888 60,742,000 «“ «“ ‘ 
“1898 100,194,600 « « r 


None of it is sold as Bordeaux or Burgundy, 
at least not by the Algerian grower or dealer. 
It is quite good enough to sell on its own mer- 
its. Let Australia, then, fabricate so-called 
‘‘ Burgundy ’’ and Germany ‘‘ Champagne ”’ 
— Algeria has no need for any of these wiles. 

Grapes, figs and plums are seemingly better 
in Algeria than elsewhere. Not better, per- 
haps, but they are so abundant that one eats 
only of the best. The rest are exported to 
England and Germany. The little mandarin 
oranges from Blida and about there, are one 
of the stand-bys of Algerian trade. So are 
olives and dates. 


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CHAPTER IV 


THE REGENCE OF TUNISIA AND THE TUNISIANS 


For twenty years France has been putting 
forth her best efforts and energies into the 
development of Tunisia, to make it a worthy 
and helpful sister to Algeria. From a JI*rench 
population of seven hundred at the time of the 
occupation in 1882, the number has risen to fifty 
thousand. | 

Tunisia of to-day was the Lybia of the an- 
cients; but whether it was peopled originally 
from Spain, from Egypt or from peoples from 
the south, history is silent, or at least is not 
convincingly loud-voiced. 

Lybian, Punic, Roman, Vandal and Byzan- 
tine, the country became in turn, then Mussul- 
man; for the native Tunisian has not yet be- 
come French. The Bey still reigns, though 
with a shorn fragment of his former powers. 
The Bey is still the titular head of his Régence, 
but the French Résident Général is really the 
premer fonctionnaire, as also he is the Bey’s 
Ministére des Affaires Htrangéres. 

The ancient governmental organization of 

57 


58 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


the Bey has been retained with respect to inte- 
rior affairs. The Caids are the local governors 
or administrators of the territorial divisions 
and are appointed by the Bey himself. They 
are charged with the policing of their districts, 
the collecting of taxes, and are vested with a 
certain military authority with which to im- 





An Old Seal of the Bey of Tunis 


press their tribes. Associated with the Caids, 
as seconds 1n command, are a class called Kha- 
lifas, and as tax collectors, mere civil authori- 
ties, there are finally the Sheiks. 

It was a bitter pill for Italy when France 
took the ascendancy in Tunis. The population 
of the city of Tunis to-day still figures 30,000 
Italians and Maltese as against 10,000 French, 
—and ever have the French anti-expansion- 
ists called it a ‘‘ chinoiserie.’’ Call it what you 
will, Tunis, in spite of its preponderant Ital- 
ian influence, is fast becoming French. It is 
also becoming prosperous, which is the chief 


Regence of Tunisia and Tunisians 59 


end of man’s existence. This proves France’s 
intervention to have been a good thing, in spite 
of the fact that it accounts for seventy-five per 
cent. of the Italian’s animosity towards his 
Gallic sister. 

The death of S. A. Saddok-Bey in 1882, by 
which the Tunisian sovereign became subserv- 
ient to the French Resident, was an event 
which caused some apprehension in France. 

The new ruler, Si-Ali-Bey, embraced gladly 
the French suzerainty in his land that his sons 
might see the institutions of the Régence pros- 
per under the benign guidance of a world 
power. Ali-Bey resisted nothing French,—even 
as a Prince, — and when he came to the Beyli- 
eale throne in 1882 he gave no thought what- 
ever to the ultimate political independence of 
his country. He was ever, until his death, the 
faithful, liberal codperator with the succession 
of Résidents Généreaux who superseded him in 
the control of the real destinies of Tunisia. 

-As a sovereign he formerly stood as the ab- 
solute ruler of a million souls, not only their 
political ruler, but their religious head as well. 
The latter title still belongs to the Bey. (The 
present ruler, Mohammed-en-Nacer-Bey, came 
into power upon the death of his predecessor, 
Mohammed-el-Hadi-Bey in 1906.) 


60 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


French political administration has robbed 
the power of the Bey of many of its picturesque 
and romantic accessories; but the usages of 
Islam are tolerated not only in the entourage 
of the Bey, but in all his subjects as well. This 
toleration even grants them the sanctity of 
their mosques, and does not allow the hordes 
of Christian tourists, who now make a play- 
ground of Mediterranean Africa from Cairo to 
Fez, to desecrate them by writing their names 
in Mohammedan sacred places. In other words, 
Kuropeans are forbidden to enter any of the 
Tunisian mosques save those at Kairouan. 

It was Ali-Bey who achieved the task of ma- 
king the masses understand that their duty was 
to obey the new régime; that it was a law com- 
mon to them all that would assure the pros- 
perity of the nation; and that it was he, the 
Bey, who was still the titular head of their 
religion, which, after all, is the Mussulman’s 
chief concern in life. 

Might makes right, often enough in a mal- 
adroit fashion, but sometimes it comes as a real 
blessing. This was the case with the coming 
of the French to Tunisia. A highly organized 
army was a necessity for Tunisia, and within 
the last quarter of a century she has got it. 
The French were far-seeing enough to. antici- 


Regence of Tunisia and Tunisians 61 


pate the probable eventuality which might 
grow out of England’s side-long glances 
towards Bizerte, and the Italian sphere of in- 
fluence in Tripoli. Now those fears, not by 
any means imaginary ones at the time, are 
dead. England must be content with Gibraltar, 
and Italy with Sardinia. There are no more 
Mediterranean worlds to conquer, or there will 
not be after France absorbs Tripoli in Barbary, 
and Morocco, and the mortgages are maturing 
fast. 

To-day the Tunisians are taxed less than 
they ever were before, and are better policed, 
protected and cared for in every way. Their 
millennium seems to have arrived. France, 
with the codperation of the Bey, dispenses the 
law and the prophets after the patriarchal 
manner which Saint Louis inaugurated at Car- 
thage in the thirteenth century. 

The justice of Al-Bey and Mohammed-el- 
Hadi-Bey was an improvement over that of 
their predecessors, which was tyrannical to an 
extreme. The Spartan or Druidical under-the- 
oak justice, and worse, gave way to a formal 
recognized code of laws which the French au- 
thorities evolved from the heritage of the Ko- 
ran, and very well indeed it has worked. 

The Bey had become a veritable father of 


62 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


his people, and was accessible to all who had 
business with him, meriting and receiving the 
true veneration of all the Tunisian population 
of Turks, Jews and Arabs. He interpreted the 
laws of Mahomet with liberality to all, and 
from his palace of La Marsa dispensed an in- 
ealeulable charity. 

The present Bey is not an old and tried law- 
maker or soldier like his predecessors, and be- 
yond a few simple phrases is not even conver- 
sant with the French language. He is a Mus- 
sulman im toto, but his régime seems to run 
smoothly, and day by day the country of his 
forefathers prospers and its people grow fat. 
Some day an even greater prosperity is due 
to come to Tunisia, and then the Beylicale in- 
cumbent will be covered with further glories, 
if not further powers. This will come when 
the great trade-route from the Mediterranean 
to the heart of Africa, to Lake Tchad, 1s opened 
through the Sud-Tunisien and Tripoli, which 
will be long before the African interior railway 
dreamed of by the late Cecil Rhodes comes into 
being. 

French influence in Africa will then receive 
a commercial expansion that is its due, and 
another Islamic land will come unconsciously 
under the sway of Christian civilization. 


Regence of Tunisia and Tunisians 63 


The obsequies of the late Bey of Tunis were 
an impressive and unusual ceremony. The eve 
before, the prince who was to reign henceforth 
received the proclamation of his powers at the 
Bardo, when he was invested with the Beyli- 
cale honours by the authorities of France and 
Tunisia. 

The funeral of the dead Bey was more pom- 
pous than any other of his predecessors. He 
died at his palace at La Marsa and lay in state 
for a time in his own particular ‘‘ Holy City,’’ 
Kassar-Said, on the route to Bizerte, where 
were present all his immediate family. Prince 
Mohammed-en-Nacer, the Bey to be, was so 
overcome with a crisis of nerves that he fell 
swooning at the ceremony, with difficulty pull- 
ing himself together sufficiently to proceed. 

The progress of the cortége towards Tunis, 
the capital, was through the lined-up ranks of 
fifty thousand Mussulmans lying prostrate on 
the ground. Entrance to the city was by the 
Sidi-Abdallah Gate, and thence to the Kasba. 
The Mussulman population crowded the roof- 
tops and towers of the entire city. The mili- 
tary guard of the Zouaves, the Chasseurs d’A- 
frique, and the Beylicale cavalry formed a con- 
trasting lively note to the solemnity of the 
religious proceedings, though nothing could 


64 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


drown the fervent wails and shouts of ‘‘ La 
wlah allah, Mohammed Rassone Allah! Sidi 
Ali-Bey!’’ the Arabic substitute for ‘‘ The 
King is dead! Long live the King! ”’ 

Before the Grande Mosqueée the Unans-Muf- 
tis and the Bach-Muftis recited their special 
prayers, and all the dignitaries of the new 
court came to kiss the hand of the reigning 
prince, who, at the Gate of Dar-el-Bey, was 
saluted by the Résident Général of France. 

The Tomb of the Beys, the T'ourbet et Bey, 
is the sepulchre of all the princes of the house, 
each being buried in a separate marble sar- 
cophagus, but practically in a common grave. 

A fanatical expression which was not coun- 
tenanced, but which frequently came to pass 
nevertheless, was the crawling beneath the lit- 
ter on which reposed the remains of the de- 
funect Bey by numerous Mussulman devotees. 
The necromancy of it all is to the effect that 
he who should pass beneath the body of a dead 
Mussulman ruler would attain pardon for any 
faults ever afterwards committed. Seemingly 
it occurred to the authorities that it was put- 
ting a premium on crime, and so it was sup- 
pressed, and rightly enough. 

The political status of the native of Tunisia 
to-day is similar to that of his brother of Al- 


Regence of Tunisia and Tunisians 65 


geria. It is incontestable that the Tunisian’s 
status under Beylicale rule was not wholly 
comfortable, for the indigénes were ruled in a 
manner little short of tyrannical; but the Arab 
lived always in expectation of bettering his 
position, in spite of being either a serf or a 
ground-down menial. 'T'o-day he has only the 
state of the ordinary French citizen to look 
forward to, and has no hope of becoming a 
tyrant himself. This is his chief grievance as 
seen by an outsider, though indeed when you 
discuss the matter with him he has a long line 
of complaints to enumerate. 

Things have greatly improved in Tunisia 
since the French came into control. Formerly 
the native, or the outlander, had no appeal 
from the Beylicale rule short of being hanged 
if he didn’t like his original sentence. To-day, 
with a mixed tribunal of Tunisian and French 
officials, he has a far easier time of it even 
though he be a delinquent. He gets his deserts, 
but no vituperative punishments. 

One thing the Tunisian Arab may not do 
under French rule. He may not leave the Ré- 
gence, even though he objects to living there. 
The French forbid this. They keep the indi- 
genes at home for their country’s good, instead 
of sending them away. It keeps a good balance 


66 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


of things anyway, and the law of the Koran 
as interpreted by the powers of Tunis is as 
good for the control of a subject people as that 
of the Code Napoleon. 

The Tunisians, the common people of Tunis, 
are protegés of France, and France is doing 
her best to protect them and lead them to pros- 
perity, assisted of course by the good-will and 
influence of the ruling Bey, whom she keeps in 
luxury and quasi-power. 

Formerly when the native ruler did not care 
to be bothered with any particular class of sub- 
jects, whether they were Turks or Jews, he 
banished them, but the French officials consider 
this a superfluous prodigality, and keep all 
ranks at home and as contented as possible in 
their work of developing their country. 

The one thing that the French will not have 
is a wholesale immigration of the Arab popu- 
lation of either Algeria or Tunisia. To benefit 
by a change of air, the indigéene of whatever 
rank must have a special permission from the 
government before he will be allowed to em- 
bark on board ship, or he will have to become 
a stowaway. Very many get this special per- 
mission, for one reason ov another, but to many 
it is refused, and for good and sufficient rea- 
sons. ‘Tio the merchant who would develop a 


Regence of Tunisia and Tunisians 67 


commerce in the wheat of the plateau-lands, 
the barley of the Sahel, or the dates of the 
Oasis, permission is granted readily enough; 
and to the young student who would study law 
or medicine at Aix, Montpellier or Paris; but 
not to the able-bodied cultivator of the fields. 
He is wanted at home to grow up with the coun- 
try. 

Tunis la ville and Tunisia le pays are more 
medieval and more Oriental than Algiers or 
Algeria. In Tunis, as in every Arab town, as in 
Constantinople or Cairo, you may yet walk the 
streets feeling all the oppression of that silence 
which ‘‘ follows you still,’’ and of a patient, 
lack-lustre stare, still regarding you as ‘‘ an 
unaccountable, uncomfortable work of God, 
that may have been sent for some good purpose 
— to be revealed hereafter.’’ 

The morality and the methods of the traders 
of the bazars and souks remain as Kinglake 
and Burton described them in their day, some- 
thing not yet understood by the ordinary Oc- 
cidental. 

This sort of thing is at its best at Tunis. 
Wine, olives, dates and phosphates are each 
contributing to the prosperity of Tunis to a 
remarkable degree, and the development of 
each industry is increasing as nowhere else, 


68 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


not even in Algeria. In 1900 the vineyards of 
Tunisia increased over two thousand hectares, 
and in all numbered nearly twelve thousand 
hectares, of which one-quarter at least were 
native owned. 

The wine crop in 1900 was 225,000 hectoli- 
tres, an increase of nearly thirty per cent. over 
the season before, and it is still increasing. 


50 


y ETHE OLIVES WE EAT £4 


we, O € 


OLIVE PECHELINE CHIVE VERDALE 4 Douger 
OLIVE we LUCQUES ‘OLIVE OLIVER, 












The olive brings an enormous profit to its ex- 
ploiters, and the Tunisian olive and Tunisian 
olive oil rank high in the markets of the world. 
Originally ancient Lybia was one of the first 
countries known to produce olive oil on a com- 
mercial scale. All varieties of olive are grown 
on Tunisian soil. The illustration herewith 
marks the species. 

The art of making olive oil goes back to the 
god Mereury. In the time of Moses and of Job 
the culture of the olive was greatly in repute. 
The exotics of the East and of Greece took the 
olive-leaf for a symbol, but the fighting, quar- 
relsome Romans would have none of it; the 


Regence of Tunisia and Tunisians 69 


bay leaf and the palm of victory were all-suf- 
ficient for them. 

They soon came to know its value, however, 
when they overran North Africa, and they ex- 
ploited the olive-groves as they did the plateau 
wheat belt. Casar even nourished his armies 
on such other local products as figs and dates 
and found them strength-giving and sinew- 
making. North Africa has ever been a garde- 
manger of nations. 

What Tunisia needs is capital, and every- 
body knows it. The date-palm and the olive 
give the greatest return of all the agricultural 
exploitations of the country, and after them 
the vine, and finally the orange-tree, the lemon- 
tree, the fig and the almond. Each and every 
one of these fruits requires a different condi- 
tion of soil and climate. Fortunately all are 
here, and that is why Tunisia is going some day 
to be a gold mine for all who invest their cap- 
ital in the exploitation of its soil. 

The date requires a warmth and dryness of 
atmosphere which is found nowhere so suitable 
as in the Djerid and the Nefzaoua in the south. 
Here the soil is of just the right sandy com- 
position, and rain is comparatively unknown. 
For this reason the date here flourishes better 
than the olive, which accommodates itself read- 


70 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


ily to the Sahel and the mountains of the north. 
Of the vast production of dates in this re- 
gion, by far the greater part is consumed at 
home, the exportation of a million frances’ 
worth per annum being but a small proportion 
of the whole. 

Almost every newly exploited tourist ground 
has an individual brand of pottery which col- 
lectors rave over, though it may be the ordi- 
nary variety of cooking utensils which are com- 
mon to the region. This is true of Tunis and 
the potteries of Nabeul. 

Besides mere utilitarian articles for domes- 
tic use, the shapes and forms which these Arab 
pottery-workers give to their vases and jugs 
- make them really characteristic and beautiful 
objets d’art; and they are not expensive. The 
loving marks of the potter’s thumb are over all, 
and his crude ideas of form and colour are 
something which more highly trained crafts- 
men often miss when they come to manufactur- 
ing ‘‘ art-pottery,’’ as the name is known to 
collectors. 

A cruchon decorated with a band of angular 
camels and queer zigzag rows of green or red 
has more of that quality called ‘‘ character ”’ 
than the finest lustre of the Golfe de Jouan or 
the faience of Rouen. For five francs one may 


Regence of Tunisia and Tunisians 71 


buy three very imposing examples of jugs, 
vases or water-bottles, and make his friends 
at home as happy as if he brought them a string 
of coral (made of celluloid, which is mostly 
what one gets in Italy to-day), or a carved 
ivory elephant of the Indies (made in Belgium 
of zylonite). The real art sense often ex- 
presses itself in the common, ordinary products 
of a country, though not every tourist seems 
to know this. Let the collector who wants a 
new fad collect ‘‘ peasant pottery,’’ and never 
pay over half a dollar for any one piece. 

Closely allied with the pottery of Nabeul is 
a more commercially grand enterprise which 
has recently been undertaken in the Sahel south 
of Tunis. Not all the wealth of the vastly pro- 
ductive though undeveloped countryside hes in 
cereals, phosphates or olive-trees. There is a 
species of clay which is suitable, apparently, to 
all forms of ceramic fabrication. 

In one of the most picturesque corners of the 
littoral, just south of Monastir, is a factory 
which turns out the most beautiful glazed brick 
and tiles that one ever cast his eye upon. The 
red-tiled roof of convention may now be ex- 
pected to give way to one of iridescent, daz- 
zling green, if the industry goes on prospering ; 
and no more will the brick-yards of Marseilles 


72 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


sell their dull, conventional product throughout 
Tunisia; and no more will the steamship com- 
panies grow wealthy off this dead-weight 
freight. The Italian or Maltese balancelle will 
deliver these magnificent coloured bricks and 
tiles of Monastir all over the Mediterranean 
shores; and a variety of colour will come into 
the landscape of the fishermen’s huts and the 
farmhouses which the artists of a former gen- 
eration knew not of. 

Tunis is undergoing a great commercial de- 
velopment, and if the gold of Ophir is not some 
day found beneath its soil, many who have pre- 
dicted its undeveloped riches will be surprised 
and disappointed. 

The railways of Tunisia are not at all ade- 
quate to the needs of the country, but they are 
growing rapidly. When the line is finally built 
linking Sousse and Sfax (the service is now 
performed by automobile by travellers, or on 
eamel-back; or by Italian or Arab barques by 
water, for merchandise), there will be approx- 
imately 1,700 kilometres of single-track road. 
Algeria with an area four times as great has 
but 3,100 kilometres of railway. 

The railway exploitation of Tunisia has not 
as yet brought any great profit to its founders. 
The net profit after the cost of exploitation, in 


Régence of Tunisia and Tunisians 73 


1904, was but half a million frances; but it has 
a bright future. 

Great efforts are being made by the govern- 
ment authorities, and the railway officials as 
well, towards colonizing the Régence with 
French citizens. A million and a half of francs 
have already been spent by the government, in 
addition to free grants of land, towards this 
colonization, and in 1904 alone land to the value 
of a million and a half was sold to french im- 
migrants. 

If one wants to travel into the interior of 
Tunisia, off the beaten track, say to Médenine, 
beyond Gabés; or to Tozeur, he should find 
some way of fitting himself out with an authori- 
zation and recommendation from the French 
‘* civil eontrol.’’ This recommendation will be 
written in Arabic, and one will not be able to 
read it, nor will half the officials to whom it is 
shown en route; but one and all will be im- 
pressed by the official seal, the parchment, the 
heading ‘‘ Praise to Allah the only God,’’ and 
the date at the bottom, — which will read some- 
thing as follows: 22 Djoumada 2d, 1307, — 
this being the date of the Hegira. Any docu- 
ment as mysterious and formal as this will 
accomplish much anywhere, so far as its pow- 
ers as an open sesame are concerned. 


CHAPTER V 
THE RELIGION OF THE MUSSULMAN 


No one unless he be a Mohammedan can hope 
to experience the sentiments and emotions born 
of the Mussulman religion, or explain the fun- 
damental principles of the Koran. It is a thing 
apart from all other religions, and though we 
may recognize many of its principles as being 
good and worthy, only one of the faithful can 
really absorb them as a part of his daily life. 

The one underlying tenet which we all rec- 
ognize as being something understood of all 
people, be they fanatics or not, is that of the 
purification by water. No Mussulman com- 
mences his devotions without first washing 
himself; he may take a conventional bath; he 
may wash his feet, face and hands; or he may 
go through a mere perfunctory sprinkling; but 
the form or ceremony has been complied with, 
and then, and then only, may he invoke Allah 
and his Prophet. | 

From the Atlantic to the Malay seas, from 
Turkestan to the Congo, more than two hun- 

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Religion of the Mussulman 75 


dred millions of men proclaim that there is 
no God but Allah and that Mohammed is his 
Prophet. Besides these well-defined geograph- 
ical limits, the Mohammedans are everywhere. 
You find them in China, in Japan, in India, in 
the Philippines, and scattered throughout Con- 
tinental Europe. The strength of Islam is 
everywhere in evidence. And whether it is 
mere tribal warfare that brings it to our no- — 
tice, or a ‘‘ Holy War ’’ against the infidels of 
Christians, as is really the case in Morocco 
at the present time, it is to be reckoned with as 
a power, as much so as the ‘“‘ yellow plague ”’ 
of the Chinese and Japanese. 

In all Islamic lands religion stands first. 
The Sultans—those of Constantinople and 
Fez — are religious heads even before they are 
accounted as chiefs of the state. And through 
its sub-heads and brotherhoods and secret soci- 
eties, Islamism is spreading with a rapidity 
which most of the supposedly worldly-wise 
have hitherto ignored entirely. 

In the African possessions of France alone 
there are in the neighbourhood of a hundred 
head-centres of Islamism which, until a very 
recent time, preached obstruction to the for- 
eigner —and perhaps still does so in secret. 
France came to know and realize this very 


76 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


soon, and when she took over the civil and mili- 
tary charge of Algeria and Tunisia, she rec- 
ognized the only successful policy as being one 
of cooperation and not of coercion. Three hun- 
dred organizations, then,—more_ religious 
sects or communities than political divisions 
of a people— were kept intact in most in- 
stances, and the Sheiks who formerly got obedi- 
ence from their people as the sub-religious 
heads of this vast organization became prac- 
tically mayors, councillors and justices of the 
peace. It was the only thing to do, and how 
well it has worked is best shown by the fact 
that Algeria has become the most flourishing 
and loyal of all French colonies. 

These Sheiks of Algeria and Tunisia, to 
whom France has granted so much compli- 
mentary power, contributed in cash, in 1890, 
the sum of sixteen millions of frances which 
they had collected of their fellow Mussulmans. 
A gigantic sum when it is realized that it may 
originally have been paid to the Sheik in kind, 
a quintal of wheat, a half dozen sheep, or a 
few hundred kilos of dates. The Sheik doubt- 
less makes something for himself as all this 
commodity passes through his hands, but what 
would you, official sinning is not confined to 
Mohammedans. 


Religion of the Mussulman = 77 


In return for his services the Arab Sheik, 
the emissary of the French civil control, gets 
a more modest salary than would his Gallic 
substitute, and he does his work more effi- 
ciently. His powers, with the backing of 
France, have been largely increased, even with 
his own people, and he is a part of a great 
political machine. He may even be a very 
learned person, an expert linguist in French, 
and the bearer of many decorations, even the 
Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour. Is it 
any wonder that his country is peaceful and 
everybody satisfied! He breaks out once and 
again with some childish, petulant protest and 
compromises the whole thing; but then some 
French official at headquarters makes him a 
present of a gross of wax candles, a bird-cage 
or a phonograph, and again everything runs 
smoothly for a space 

Before the time of Mohammed the Arabs 
professed diverse religions; some were Chris- 
tians; some were Jews; some were fire-wor- 
shippers; and some mere idol-worshippers. 
Among this latter were a sect who made great 
idols of dough which in time became baked or 
very nearly petrified, and thus served the tribe 
of the Beni Hafa as food in time of famine. 
A very practical religion this! 


78 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


tly My QOD 


«There is no God but Allah! 
And Mohammed is his prophet.” 





The faith of Islam is an obscure thing. It 
is supposedly a compound of the Christian and 
Hebrew religions — with variations. The sects 
of Islam are many, the two chief being the Shi- 
ites and the Sunnites. The former recognized 
Ali, the cousin of Mohammed, as the true suc- 
eessor of the Prophet, and collectively they 
form the major part of the Mussulman faith 
of India and Persia. 

The orthodox followers of the Prophet, the 
faithful of Turkey, Arabia, Egypt, Algeria, 
Tunisia and Morocco, have added to the pre- 
cepts of the Koran the books of traditional say- 
ings and maxims of the Prophet (a sort of 
Apocrypha, it would seem), and recognize as 
his successors the first four Kalifs — those of 
Bagdad, Cairo, Constantinople and Fez—as 
the legitimate successors of Mohammed. 

This chief orthodox sect is further subdi- 
vided into Hanefites, Malikites, Shafiites and 
Hanabites, — foundations of various relations 
of the Prophet. They vary somewhat in their 


Religion of the Mussulman 79 


interpretations of the Koran and certain con- 
clusions with regard to the ‘‘law’’ of the 
Prophet, but they are as one with regard to 
the precepts of purification, prayer, fasting, 
pilgrimage and charity towards their fellow 
men, and against the outside world of infi- 
dels. 

The Arabs and Berberes Arabisés of North 
Africa are mostly Hanefites and Malikites. 

Five times a day the Mussulman prays: 
(i) at fedjeur (daybreak — before sunrise) ; 
(ii) at eulam (after meridian); (i111) at dohar 
(midway between noon and nightfall); (iv) at 
aseur (just after sunset, when his day of la- 
bour is finished); and (v) at mogreb (when 
night actually falls). There is sometimes a sixth 
prayer at eucha (supper-time). 

Not all professing Mussulmans pray five 
times aday. There are backsliders in the Mus- 
sulman religion as in other religions; but both 
in the cities and the countryside the truly de- 
vout, singly, or even in groups of a score or 
a hundred at a time, make their ‘‘ sunset devo- 
tions’? with regularity and impressiveness. 
The devout Arab will dismount from his horse, 
mule or camel, will come out of his tent or 
house, and will even alight from a railway 
train or diligence if opportunity offers, and 


80 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


say his sunset prayer in the open air. The 
Mussulman does not invariably need the stim- 
ulus of a temple to express himself towards his 
God. In that respect he is certainly far ahead 
of some of the other sects found throughout 
the world. 

The spectacle of the Mussulman’s sunset 
prayer in the desert — standing barefooted on 
his little rug or carpet and facing the east and 
Mecca — is impressive beyond words; and not 
even the most skeptical would deny to the sim- 
ple faith of Islam the virtues granted to many 
religions more ceremoniously complicated. 
The ceremonies in the mosques are less im- 
pressive than those in the open air. 

The following résumé of the symbolism of 
the eight positions of the Mussulmans’ prayer 
explains the attitudes and postures that one 
remarks everywhere in the world of Islam. 

I. Standing: ‘‘ I offer my God, with sincere 
heart and with my face towards Mecca, two 
rakoh (prayers). 

It. Still standing, but with open palms 
raised to each side of the face, the thumbs 
touching the ears — ‘‘ God is Great! ”’ 

IIT. Still standing; with the right hand 
crossing the left over the chest, he repeats, 
‘‘ Holiness to Thee, oh, God! Praise be to 


Religion of the Mussulman 81 


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Wars: ay 
oe a 
a, wa 
URNS 
EARS ee 


B.Mc Manus «—*" 





The Eight Positions of the Praying Mussulman 


82 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Thee! Great is Thy name! ’’—and other 
prayers from the Koran. 

IV. Still standing; the body inclined for- 
ward and the hands, with fingers separated, 
placed upon the knees. ‘‘ I extol the Sanctity 
of the Great God! ”’ 

V. Falling upon the knees—‘‘ God is 
Great! ’’ 

VI. Still on the knees he makes a bow (three 
times repeated), the forehead and nose touch- 
ing the ground, ‘‘ I extol the Sanctity of my 
God, the Most High! ”’ 

This practically finishes one rakoh, but there 
are usually added certain recitations from the 
first chapter of the Koran, with perhaps a rep- 
etition of the postures. 

VII. Before finally leaving the place of 
prayer the act of witness, Tashabhud, is given. 
He raises the forefmger of his right hand and 
repeats: ‘‘ I affirm that there is no God but 
God and that Mohammed is the Apostle of 
God.”’ 

VIII. The last position is the Munjat, or 
supplication, when are repeated certain suit- 
able verses of the Koran. 

Christ enters into the Mussulman religion as 
one of the Prophets of God. They believe that 


Religion of the Mussulman 83 


Christ was, before the coming of Mohammed, 
the greatest of all Prophets. 

All good Mussulmans recite the prayers of 
their beads, just as all good Catholics say their 
chaplets. The Mussulman has a string of 
ninety-nine beads, each standing for one of the 
ninety-nine perfections of Allah. This rosary 
is often elaborate and costly, interspersed here 
and there with jewels; but more often than not, 
even with wealthy Mussulmans, it is a string 
of crude wooden beads. The faith of Islam is 
a simple one, not a showy one. 

The Friday prayer at the mosques is one of 
the events to see in a Mussulman country. 
Public prayer is a social event with Moham- 
medans, as it is with many Christians. Soon 
after the sun has marked high noon, and while 
the siesta is still the chief blessing with many, 
the throng follows the first zoual or call of the 
muezein, 

Everything is burning and brilliant under an 
ardent southern sun, and a scintillating, daz- 
zling reflection comes from each whitewashed 
wall until one is almost blinded. After this 
the cool shadows of the mosque are most re- 
freshing. Barefooted the Mussulman throng 
threads its way among the myriad pillars of 


84 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


the court and enters the sanctuary where day- 
light filters dimly through a sieve of iron-lat- 
ticed windows. 

Praying men are everywhere, — men of the 
town, and nomad Arabs from the desert whose 
business has brought them thither. The women 
are all at the cemetery talking scandal, for ex- 
cept on special occasions, the Mussulman 
women are not admitted to the Holy Day (Fri- 
day) prayers in the mosques. This is in accord- 
ance to the law of the Prophet. Under a great 
dome a ruddier, more brilliant hight showers 
down on the students and professors who 
psalm the verses of the Koran in a monotonous 
wail; while still farther to the rear is the in- 
fants’ school, whose pupils repeat their lessons 
in crackling singsong voices all day long to a 
pair of bearded, turbaned elders. Here and 
there, backed up against a pillar, a taleb re- 
cites his litany to the Prophet. All these voices 
blend in a murmur undistinguishable from any 
other conglomerate sound, except that it is 
manifestly human. 

Suddenly, from high above, on the gallery of 
the minaret, rings out the muezzin’s second 
call to prayer, and like the reverberant light, 
it seems to filter down from the unknown. 

With face towards Mecca the imam reads 





ayer 


Se (Cal pds 


zn’ 


The Mue 


2“ 





Religion of the Mussulman 85 





the Khotba, a long, dreary prayer of exhorta- 
tion, but no more monotonous than the cut and 
dried sermon which one mostly gets in Chris- 
tian churches. The imam is not a priest as is 
known of Christendom; the religion of Islam 
has no regular clergy; he is simply the wisest 
elder among the personnel of the mosque. 

All through the service, as indeed at all 
times, a great calm reigns throughout every 
Mohammedan mosque. At the end of the last 
exhorting couplet issuing from between the lips 
of the wmam a naive joy, as of a relief from 
a great oppression, spreads over the assembled 
faithful and all rush for the open, as do con- 
eregations of other faiths. One religion is not 
so very different from another after all. It is 
only a matter of belief, not of the mode of ex- 
pressing one’s adherence to that belief. 

“* May peace be thine, O Mohammed, Prophet 
of God. Ruler of Mecca and Medina and Lord 
of all Mussulmans now and always.’’ 

This finishes the service of the mosque. 

From the opaque obscurity of the maze of 
’ the mosque’s interior one comes suddenly 
again into the hght of day. To a burning 
African landscape from the humidity of a clois- 
ter. 

Woman’s position in Islam is peculiar. It 


86 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


is not according to our notions of what is right 
and proper, and there is no looked-for or 
hoped-for emancipation to be thought of. The 
question is both a social and a religious one. 
Those few Europeans who have really studied 
the harem as an institution have found, how- 
ever, that its establishment and continuance is 
a plan that works well, and that the majority 
of these supposedly unhappy wives really love 
their husbands, and their destiny. If this is 
so, what business is it of ours to criticize the 
conduct of the ménage of the Arab or the Turk. 
The Prophet himself said that woman was the 
jewel and the perfume of this world. 
Theoretically the Mussulman idea is that 
man is the superior creature physically, and 
that it is his business alone to mingle and rub 
shoulders with the world, leaving his wives, 
members of the fragile sex, to raise his family, 
embellish his life and console him in time of 
grief. All other things apart, surely these are 
good enough principles for anybody to found 
domestic bliss upon. And these are the prin- 
cipal tenets of the domestic creed of the Mos- 
lem. He is often not the villain he is painted. 
To continue the words of the Prophet — Mo- 
hammed said one day to his companions: 
‘* Would you know the most valuable posses- 


Religion of the Mussulman 87 


sion of man? It is, then, an honest woman. 
She charms the eye, and is obedient, and 
guards his reputation intact during his ab- 
sence from home.’’ Really the Islamic faith 
goes a bit farther, for it counsels man to 
‘* cloister his wife as a prevention of jealousy 
and doubt, the mortal poisons, the terrible un- 
pitying destroyers of conjugal quietude.”’ 
This, too, seems good advice, like many other 
of the precepts of the Koran. 

Many of these Arab women were born within 
the harem’s walls, and know not any other 
modes of life as preferable to their own. They 
regard the daily round of lhberty of the Euro- 
pean woman as an unreal, undesirable state. 
The harem has been the theatre of their joys 
since infancy, and they have become so habitu- 
ated to it that their life of seclusion becomes 
a second nature. They would not flee the sill 
of the great doorway into the outer world if 
they could, and their only change of locale is 
to pass from the harem of the husband of their 
mother to that of their spouse. In the harem 
the Arab woman is cared for with an un- 
thought-of luxury. All the goods and chattels 
that their husband values most go to enrich 
the harem walls and floors. The harem is a 
sumptuous, glorious apartment compared to 


88 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


the simplicity with which the master of the 
house surrounds himself in his own quarters. 

It is the opinion of that indefatigable trav- 
eller and student of exotic things, Edmond de 
Amicis, that the Arab concedes nothing to the 
European in his chivalrous treatment of 
woman. ‘‘ No Arab dares lift an offending 
hand against a woman in public.’’ ‘‘ No Arab 
soldier, even in the tumult of attack, would 
think of maltreating even the most insolent of 
womenkind.’?’ And yet Europeans of most na- 
tionalities have been known to do both these 
things. 

In her cloister, or to be more exact, in her 
boudoir, the Arab woman, and particularly the 
mother, receives the most respectful homage 
and solicitude from all the household. Accord- 
ing to the Koran the children are admonished 
to respect the persons of those who bore 
them, and a verbal declaration of the Prophet 
is set down as: ‘‘ A child may gain Para- 
dise only by following in the footsteps of its 
mother.’’ 

The educated and advanced Arabs of the 
towns have done much to disabuse the public 
of any false preconceived ideas concerning 
Arab womenfolk. Contrary to common belief 
the Arab woman is often the intellectual and 


Religion of the Mussulman 89 


social equal of her spouse. It was only the 
absurd jealousy of the old-school Mussulmans 
that annihilated for ever the faculties of their 
Wives. 

The portrait gallery of celebrated Mussul- 
man women is not large, but one does not for- 
get Zobeidah, who inspired and aided the illus- 
trious Haroun-Al-Rachid. Islam is not in its 
decadence, but its sponsors are awakening to 
the fact that they must keep abreast of the 
times. 

The Friday promenade of the Mussulman 
woman of the towns to the cemetery is her only 
outing, the only day off allowed her. She 
makes.as much of it as possible, but it is a sad 
proceeding at best. 

The Arab tomb is, generally speaking, a 
thing of simplicity, a simple slab bearing the 
Arab words for the sentiment ‘‘ Hic jacet.’’ 
The exception is in the marabout tombs or 
koubas, which are often monumental, though of 
comparatively small dimensions, well built, 
symmetrical, and surmounted by a dome or 
cupola. 

The word marabout signifies first of all a 
holy man of the Mohammedan sect, a réligieux 
in fact, one whose vows, life and service is 
devoted to his God. Furthermore the same 


90 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


word is applied to the tiny mosque-like tombs 
distributed throughout the Arab peopled lands, 
which are served by a marabout. The two en- 
tities have become somehow indistinguishable 
as to name. 

The mosque-marabout is practically a tiny 
house of worship, its four box-like walls sur- 
mounted by one great dome or others smaller, 
with never, never a minaret, the invariable ad- 
junct of a full-grown mosque. The quaint, 
kindly welcome of the marabout of Algeria and 
Tunisia will long remain in the memory of 
those who have come under. its influence, as did 
the author in the course of some months’ so- 
journ in a little desert oasis, peopled only by 
imdigéenes and the small garrison of a French 
military post. An excursion to visit the mara- 
bout in his humble dwelling, some kilometres 
away under another little clump of palm-trees, 
was an almost weexly occurrence. Conversa- 
tion was difficult, but we all sat and looked at 
each other and made signs, and nodded, and 
clasped hands, and again nodded a farewell, 
the white-clad marabout’s kindly, bearded face 
hehting up meanwhile as if in appreciation of 
the glimmer of light from the outside world 
which had filtered through to his tranquil 
abode. Nothing ever more belied the words 





A Marabout 





Religion of the Mussulman 91 








of a proverb than a marabout. The French 
have a remark in which he is made out an ugly, 
uncouth man: ‘‘ Affreux comme un mara- 
bout.’’ The illustration herewith belies these 
words. 

If you are a clergyman of the Christian 
church, and there are many ‘‘ conducted tour- 
ists ’’ of that order in Algeria to-day, you need 
have no hesitancy in making your profession 
of faith known to the marabout. Say simply 
that you are a “‘ marabout d’Aissa.’’ He will 
recognize and respect your religion, which is 
more than the Confucian or Buddhist will, who 
simply rolls his tongue in his cheek and smiles 
blandly. The Mohammedan’s religion is a very 
plausible and a very well-working one. He has 
no false gods or idols. That’s a good thing of 
itself. And superstition plays a very small part 
therein. That’s another good thing. The 
marabout is not a Mussulman priest, but a 
member, merely, of a religious order, — a monk 
virtually, and, as there are communities of 
monkish orders elsewhere, there are also whole 
tribes in Africa composed entirely of mara- 
bouts. They are looked up to by the Mussulman 
faithful as shepherds of the flock in the absence 
of a specially credentialled priest or father. 

The marabouts are most numerous in Mo- 


92 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets. 


rocco, Algeria and Tunisia, though their voca- 
tion properly belongs to the entire Mussulman 
religion. 

A whole tribe of the sect of marabouts, under 
the pretext of wishing to be free to practise 
their rites away from worldly contaminating 
influences, voluntarily exiled themselves cen- 
turies ago in the Atlas range bordering the 
northern limits of the Sahara. This was in 
1050. From this procedure these religionists 
grew to such power and influence that they 
became virtually political rulers as well. They 
eonquered the kingdoms of Fez and Morocco, 
and even sought to conquer Spain, emigrating 
to the southern peninsula in vast numbers, only 
to be chased from there to seek a refuge in 
Majorea, which they were able to do because 
of the bounty of the Mussulman King of Cor- 
dova, to whom the suzerainty belonged. Here 
they were known under the name of Almora- 
vides, and to them was due the invention of the 
Spanish money known as maravédis. 

The marabout is caricatured a little, too, in 
the name given to a fat-bellied copper coffee- 
pot frequently met with in the Mediterranean 
countries. Balzac describes the batterie de 
cuisine of one of his characters as consisting of 


Religion of the Mussulman 93 


un chaudron, un gril, une casserole et trois 
marabouts. 

One of the greatest Mussulman saints, and 
the one who is the most frequently invoked, 
was Sidi-el-Hadji-Abd-el-Kader-el-Djilali. His 
tomb is at Bagdad, but all Algeria is strewn 
with koubas in his honour. He is particularly 
the patron saint of the blind, but the lame and 
the halt invoke his aid as well, for he has the 
reputation of being the most potent and effica- 
cious of all Mussulman saints. A marabout is 
generally in charge of these koubas, as he is 
with the proper tombs of other holy men. The 
marabout tombs, the koubas and the mosques 
are all Mussulman shrines of the same rank so 
far as their being holy, sanctified places is con- 
cerned. 

The pilgrimage to Mecca from all Moham- 
medan lands is the event of their lives for the 
faithful who participate therein. The pilgrims 
going from Algeria and Tunisia are yearly be- 
coming greater in numbers. It is as queer a 
composite caravan as one has ever seen which 
lines up at the wharves of Bona or Sfax, there 
to take ship for the East. By this time it has 
ceased to be a caravan, and has become a per- 
sonally conducted excursion. The return is 


94 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


quite as impressive as the departure. It is then 
that a sort of cantata is sung or chanted, run- 
ning something like the following : — 

First the waiting folk on shore shout out, — 


“QO pilgrims from the house of God 
Hast thou seen the Prophet of God.” 


Then the pilgrims reply : — 


«We have seen! We have seen! 
And we have left him in the House of God: 
There he makes his devotions, 
There he reads his holy books.” 


The marabouts then endorse it all, — 


«¢Our Seigneur Abraham is the beloved of God, 
Our Seigneur Moses is the mouthpiece of God, 
Our Seigneur Aissa?! is the spirit of God, 
But our Seigneur Mohammed is the Prophet of God.” 


The memory of a Mussulman who has de- 
parted this life is not put lightly aside with the 
rising of the next day’s sun, but a real devo- 
tion, if a silent one, goes out towards the de- 
parted for many months, and perhaps years, 
after his corpse is first laid out on its mat of 
straw in the courtyard of his domicile or before 
his tent. | 


The name the Arabs give Jesus Christ. 


Religion of the Mussulman 95 


At this moment the vague, rigid form com- 
pels the devotion of all who were near and dear 
to him in life. In soft cadence they bewail his 
death, and prayers of the utmost fervour are 
sent upward on his behalf. Allis calm, solemn, 
and well-ordered, there is no hysterical excite- 
ment, no wailing clamour, and no jealous quar- 
rellings among the heirs. 

Above all others one voice cries out a sad 
voluminous chant. It is the ‘* Borda,’’ the fu- 
neral elegy of a departed soul. 

An Arab funeral is a solemn affair, though 
not necessarily imposing. A little group of 
indeterminate numbers lead off, then four oth- 
ers carrying a litter, covered with a flowing 
white cloth, on their shoulders. All this is usu- 
ally in the first hour after sunrise. On a little 
plateau of desert sand, just above the deep-dug 
grave, the corpse is finally placed, the company 
ranged about in a semicircle for one last, long, 
lingering prayer. The face of the corpse is 
turned always towards the holy city, Mecca, 
and when the body has been lowered into its 
eternal sandy cradle, and covered with a layer 
of sun-baked clay, and then more sand, three 
tiny palms are planted above. They soon 
wither and die, or they live, accordingly as 


96 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


chance favours or not, but the thing is that 
they be planted. 

This is the end; nothing remains but for the 
women to come along after a decent interval 
and weep, never by any chance missing a F'ri- 
day. 


mae <! 


ra) 


rad 


» 


va 


f 





Vy 


ter 


me 


ab Ce 


nan Ar 


ff 





CHAPTER VI 
ARCHITECTURE OF THE MOSQUES 


GotHic architecture is expressive of much 
that a mixed or transitory style lacks, but again 
the Roman, or Lombard, or the later architec- 
ture of the Renaissance, have their own partic- 
ular cachet quite as recognizable and quite as 
well defined. 

Mohammedan architecture, so different in 
motif and treatment, is quite as expressive and, 
in many ways, quite as civilized as the archi- 
tectural forms of Europe, and possesses in ad- 
dition a certain feeling which baked clay and 
plaster suggests better than all other materials. 
A feeling which is often entirely wanting in cut 
stone when used to reproduce animal and plant 
forms. 

Saracenic, Assyrian, Persian and Byzantine 
architectural details are all of them beautiful, 
if bizarre, but the Mohammedan architecture 
of the Moors outranks them all for sheer ap- 
peal, fantastic and less consistent though it be. 
Fantastic it is, but often in a simple, suggest- 

97 


98 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


ive way, depending upon design and propor- 
tion rather than profuse decoration. This is 
why the mosques of Kairouan in Tunisia, or 
those of Tlemcen in Algeria are even more in- 
teresting than the great Mosque of Saint So- 
phia, or the palace corridors of the Alhambra 
itself, which are, in fact, but a mixture of sev- 
eral styles. Terra-cotta and baked clay are all 
right in their way, but their way is the Moham- 
medan builders’ way, not that of the modern 
school architects who simulate ent stone in the 
same plastic products, and build up Turkish 
baths in palatial twenty-story Broadway hotels 
with the pagan decorations of ancient Rome, 
when what they had in mind all the time was 
the fountained courtyard of a Mohammedan 
mosque — not by any means a symbolism of 
paganism. Our new-school architects of the 
Western world sadly muddle things at times. 
Moorish arabesques do not mingle well with 
the palmer’s shells of the Italian Renaissance 
and the English fan-lights of the brothers 
Adam. 

The word mosque comes properly from the 
word mesgid, signifying place of adoration. 
The Italians make of the word, moscheta; the 
Spaniards, meschita; and the French, mosquée. 
All these variations are met with in North 


Architecture of the Mosques 99 


Africa. It is well to recognize them, for both 
Algeria and Tunisia are more ‘‘ mixed ’’ in 
their language and institutions than any other 
lands yet become affected of twentieth-century 
tourists. The mixture is perhaps the more 
likable because of its catholicity. It is cer- 
tainly more interesting; but school-board and 
self-taught linguists will need all their wits 
about them to make the most of the soft, sweet 
tongue of a desert Arab who lisps first in 
French, then in Spanish and then in Italian, 
wine perlaps van se Ohveyesiow or an {SAll 
right! ’’ here and there. He modestly reserves 
his own Arabic for an exclusive harangue 
among his intimates. 

The conventional type of mosque is undoubt- 
edly reminiscent of the Greek basilica, but in 
every way more amply disposed. The plan 
herewith is the accepted conventional type of 
great mosque before it got crowded up in the 
cities. To-day in most large towns and cities 
the mosque has been shorn of many of its at- 
tributes, leaving only the inner sanctuaries re- 
maining. . 

The plainness of the exterior of the mosques 
of North Africa is no indication of the gor- 
geousness of their interiors. An imposing so- 
briety of exterior, of all the mosques of Islam 


100 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





Ground Plan of a Mosque 


A Outer Court. B Inner Court or Sahn. C Pulpits on which 
the Koran is placed. D Fountain. E Tribune from which the 
Muezzin calls to prayer. F Three praying-niches. G Horses and 
camels. H Strangers. I Bath. J Drinking-fountain. K Well. 


Architecture of the Mosques 101 


in the Moghreb, from Tlemcen to Kairouan, 
invariably clothes dentelled sculpture and 
mouldings, fine rugs and hangings, and a laby- 
rinth of architectural fantasies possessed by no 
other class of civil or religious edifices ex- 
tant. 

The architecture of the mosques of Algeria 
and Tunisia, as of those of Constantinople and 
Cairo, is the apotheosis of a mysterious sym- 
bolism, at which the infidel can but wonder and 
speculate. He will never understand it, at 
least he will never feel it as does the Mussul- 
man himself. It is unfortunate that we outsid- 
ers are thought of as unbelievers, but so it is. 
One does not forget that even twentieth-cen- 
tury Arab gamins at Suez and Port Said revile 
the Christian with their guttural: 


“ Ya Nasrani | 
Kalb awant!” 
This venerable abuse means nothing more or 
less than: 


“OQ Nazarene 
O dog obscene!” 


This comes down from tradition, for the 
same thing is recounted in Percy’s ‘‘ Re- 
liques.’’ There, in a certain anecdote, a knight 
calls his Mussulman opponent ‘‘ unchristian 


102 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


hound,’’ to which the retort courteous was 
given as, ‘‘ christen dogge.’’ 

Of all the dainty features of a Moorish 
mosque none appeals to the artist as does the 
minaret. Minaret is the Arab name for a 
chandelier, lantern, signal fire, and finally the 
slim, graceful tower of purely Arab origin. 
Properly speaking it is in the application to 
ihe Mussulman place of worship, the mosque, 
that we know the minaret in its most poetic 
form. In its architectural sense, however, it 
is that slim, graceful, arrow-like tower which 
is so frequently a component part of a Moor- 
ish or Byzantine structure. 

The Hebrews had a similar word for a tower 
which performed similar functions — menorah; 
and the Chaldeans the word menora; while, 
finally, the Syrians adopted menortho. Of the 
exotic origin of the word there is no doubt, but 
a minaret is first of all something more than 
a mere tower. It must be of special propor- 
tions, and it must be an adjunct to a more pre- 
tentious structure. Never is a minaret a thing 
apart. | 

For a comparison between the Byzantine 
minaret and that born of the ingenuity of the 
Moorish builder, the words of Théophile Gau- 
tier must be accepted as final: ‘‘ The minarets 


Architecture of the Mosques 103 


of Saint Sophia (Constantinople) have not 
the elegance nor sveltesse of those of the 
Moor.’’ 

The minaret of the mosque of the Sultan 
Kalatin at Cairo is perhaps the most splendid 
of all contemporary works. Its height approx- 
imates two hundred feet, and though the 
mosque itself is ruined, its firm, square 
minaret, brilliant with all the fantasy of the 
best of Mussulman art, is to-day quite the 
most splendid example of its class above 
ground. 

The minaret of El Bardenei, also at Cairo, 
runs the former a close second. 

The square, dazzling white and more se- 
vere, though none less beautiful, minarets of 
Tunis and Algiers seem almost as if they 
were another species from the Cairene type. 
In reality they are not. They are one and 
the same thing, differing in no essential con- 
structive element, but only in detail of decora- 
tion. 

The Arabs, seemingly, have a horror of sym- 
metry. No two structures in one street are on 
the same building line or at the same angle, and 
the sky-lines of even the Frenchified cities of 
Algiers and Tunis are as bizarre as that of 
lower New York, though not as elevated. 


104 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


The Arab’s idea of a street building line is 
most rudimentary, but I'rench engineers are 
helping him out, and boulevards, avenues and 
streets are being laid out, and roads and alleys 
straightened as opportunity offers. The Arab 
looks on stolidly and doesn’t in the least seem 
to object, though it answered him well enough 
previously that the doorway of his favourite 
mosque should be half-hidden and almost ob- 
structed by the jutting veranda of a Moorish 
eafé, a sheep butcher’s, a silversmith’s, or a 
red and yellow awninged bath-house, and these, 
be it noted, were all set at varying angles and 
inclinations. 

A moucharabia is a component of every 
Arab, Moorish or Turkish structure of any 
pretence. Its name sounds as though it might 
have some relation to a fly-screen, and in a cer- 
tain sense it is that, though not an impenetra: 
ble one. It is more like the choir-screen of a 
Renaissance church. 

In reality the moucharabia is a lattice or 
grille of wood or even iron, sometimes ornate 
and finely carved, and sometimes merely a 
barred gate or door. 

When these fine latticed grilles are taken 
away by the housebreaker, and offered the 


Architecture of the Mosques 105 





dealer in curios, they take on an exalted value 
that the original owners never knew. It is 
difficult to buy old-time woodwork anywhere, 
whether one is searching out Chippendale 
chairs in Yorkshire, panétiers in Provence, or 
moucharabias in the Mitidja; but the Arab 
curio dealer can give the 
Christian or Hebrew antique 
dealer of other lands a good 
fair start and then beat him 
as to the profits he can draw 
from the inexperienced tourist 
collector. One thing you may 
be sure of, Arab or Moorish 
antiques are seldom imita- 
tions, and though the ‘‘ asking 
price ’’ of a moucharabia may 
(at first) be excessive, and the ‘‘ talking 
points ’’ of dubious value, the article in ques- 
tion is probably authentic, and actually could 
not be duplicated by the workmen of to-day 
for a similar price. 

The native dealer of Tunis or Algiers will 
ask two or three hundred franes for a fine ex- 
ample of a moucharabia, all green and red and 
gold, but he will probably take seventy-five if 
you will spend the day with him arguing it out. 








106 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


The little temples or shrines called koubas 
scattered all over Algeria are not unlike the 
pagan temples of the Greeks in their general 
proportions. Literally the word in Arabic 
means a square house, though indeed it was 
the patriarch Abraham who supposedly set the 
conventional design upon which all others have 
since been built. Two workmen, one a Greek 
and another a Copt, built the first kouba at 
Mecea, and it was out of this that the typical 
Arab mosque grew, as distinct from the fre- 
quently more splendid mosques of the By- 
zants. 

The Arabs had no religious art previous to 
their adoption of the faith of Mahomet. The 
true Mussulman thinks that the form and style 
of the mosque and all its dependencies was 
preconceived in the heavens, before even the 
creation of man, and that that poor mortal was 
only formed in the image of God when every- 
thing was ready and in place. With what suc- 
cess man has made use of his opportunities 
each must judge for himself. 

The mosque-marabout is often a monument 
which marks a holy place, the tomb, for in- 
stance, of a celebrated marabout or holy man. 
That erected at Algiers, above the remains of 
the Marabout Sidi-Brahim, famous because of 





3 





Architecture of the Mosques 107 


| snnmunieeieeatill 


his defence of a French captain and his sol- 
diers in the Algerian warfare of 1845, is as 
admirable and worthy a sepulchral monument 
as one will find in any land. 

The religious architecture of Islam, as far 
as its symbolism is concerned, is a thing that 
will never be understood by the Christian. A 
mosque to most people is simply a_ public 
monument, a thing of domes and minarets and 
many columns. The winter bird of passage at 
Cairo thinks it a great inconvenience that he 
should be made to put on a pair of babouches 
over his shoes in order to enter, forgetting that 
it is a Holy Place and that one of the tenets 
of the Mussulman religion forbids walking 
rough-shod over the rugs and carpets of a place 
of worship. In Algeria the practice is similar, 
except that the ‘‘ infidel ’’ simply removes his 
shoes and enters stocking-footed. In Tunisia, 
with the exception of the mosques at Kairouan, 
none but the Mussulman may pass their thresh- 
olds. 

The fine Moorish architecture which radiated 
from Granada in the golden days of its best 
epoch has in our day sadly degenerated. The 
primitive Arab of Africa intermingled with the 
Moors and absorbed to a certain degree the 
pure fundamental principles of Moorish archi- 


108 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


tecture. The town-dwelling Arab built his 
mosques and his houses, during the last two 
centuries, less luxuriously perhaps than his 
predecessors (and often with the aid of Italian 
workmen), but he did not debase the Moorish 
formule. What he kept of constructive ele- 
ments was pure, the debasement has only come 
in later years with the additions and recon- 
structions incident to keeping pace with the 
times. This is where the Arab architect beats 
the European at the same game. 

The religious edifices of Islam, whether the 
simple kouba of a saint, or the elaborate 
mosque of the city, possess always a certain 
infallible form. The fundamental principles 
are the same, whether one takes an example 
from the Holy Land, or from one within sight 
of Gibraltar. 

In Arabia, in Syria, Egypt, Tunisia and Al- 
geria this Arab expression of the architecture 
of the Moors predominates, but in Persia, 
Turkestan and in the Ottoman Empire there is 
a certain specious Byzantine cachet, which, if 
not actually a debasement, is a qualifying note 
which differentiates the two varieties. The 
Arab variety has always been, however, the 
pattern-mould from which has sprung forth 
the Islamic religious architecture of to-day. 


Architecture of the Mosques 109 





Before the birth of Islamism, Arabia, prop- 
erly called, had no great artistic monuments. 
The first mosque of magnificent proportions 
was erected in the year 20 of the Hegira (642 
A.D.) under the Khalifat of Omar —this was 
the mosque of Hmrou at Cairo. 

On this model many others were afterwards 
constructed, with variations of little impor- 
tance. These comprise for the most part the 
mosques of the Arabian peninsula, of Egypt, of 
Africa, and of Andalusia. The most famous 
of this class are those at Mecca and Medina; 
that of Iba Touloum at Cairo; that of Djama 
EKz-Zitouna at Tunis; those at Mahdia and 
Gafsa; of Okba Ibm Maffi at Kairouan; and 
Kl Mansourah at Tlemcen. Besides these most 
of the mosques of Morocco are in the same 
style, as is also the grand mosque of Cordova 
in Spain. 

Omar’s great mosque at Jerusalem was built 
at the inspiration of that Kalif. He said to 
the Patriarch of Jerusalem after one of the 
periodical religious quarrels of the time: 
‘< Show me a place, then, where I may build 
a mosque, where Mussulmans may henceforth 
assemble for their prayers without coming 
into contact with those of the Christian cult.’’ 
Then finally grew up the mosque of Omar, the 


110 In the Land of Mosques and Minareis 








Khalif himself working with the common la- 
bourers. Thus came into being the mosque 
commonly reputed to be the most beautiful in 
existence to-day. | 

We know that the minarets of the mosques 
were primarily instituted that the muwegzins 
might make their call to prayer in full view and 
hearing of the faithful. It is to the honour of 
the Kxhalif el-Walid that the first of these svelt, 
sky-piercing towers was raised, and its name 
derived from the Arab menora. 

The minaret plays a preponderant role in all 
Arab art, and is the distinguishing character- 
istic between Arab and Moorish architecture. 
In the Moghreb (that is the Barbary States 
and Spain, bordering on the western Mediter- 
ranean) the form of the minaret is nearly al- 
ways quadrangular, and the tiny terrace or 
platform high above supports, invariably, a 
smaller pavilion whose roof is usually com- 
posed of four sloping sides which, in turn, is 
surmounted by the conventional three balls and 
crescent of copper, silver or even gold. The 
four sides forming the base of -this square 
tower are sometimes of carved stone, or 
faience, or of rough-hewn stone covered 
with plaster, which is afterwards carved or 
gilded. 


Architecture of the Mosques 111 


Amongst the most beautiful of these mina- 
rets of the Moghreb there is an exquisite deli- 
cacy of design, a remarkable warmth of colour 
and an elegant, piquant suggestion of dainti- 
ness as they rise up into the unalterable azure 
of the African skies. Of this class are those 
of Kz-Zitouna and the Kasba at Tunis; of 
Sidi-bou-Medine and Mansourah at Tlemcen; 
those at Tangier and ez; and of course that 
of the Giralda at Seville. The Giralda is as- 
suredly one of the most beautiful types of Ara- 
bic-Andalusian architecture, and was built in 
the twelfth century during the reign of the 
Sultan Yacoub-el-Nansourd. 

In Egypt, quaint and mysterious as the roof- 
tops and minarets are to the untrained eye, 
they possess no systematic regularity of form 
or feature. They are of all dimensions and 
proportions. The gamut runs from the square 
to the hexagon, to the octagon, and to the cir- 
cle even, with always numerous openings too 
small to be called windows, and above all a 
plethora of finely chiselled stone. 

This résumé outlines the brilliant art of the 
builder of the Arab mosque, beginning with 
the twelfth century in Spain, the thirteenth in 
the Moghreb, and finally the thirteenth, four- 
teenth and fifteenth in Egypt and Syria. 


112 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Beyond the pale of these perfect types are 
the Perso-Byzantine varieties of the Ottoman 
Empire; and still farther east, types which are 
quite beyond the scope of these pages. 


CHAPTER VII 
POETRY, MUSIC, AND DANCING 


THE Arab is not wholly a silent, morose indi- 
vidual. He has his joys and sorrows, and his 
own proper means of expressing them like the 
rest of us. Here in Mediterranean Africa he 
has kept his traditions alight, and the darkness 
of the historic past is only relative, even though 
the Arab does belong to the unprogressive 
school. 

The Arab countries, as the French, the only 
real masters the Arab has ever had, know them, 
are a broad belt bordering upon the eastern 
and southern shores of the Mediterranean, 
from the Dardanelles to the Straits of Gibral- 
tar; and comprise Arabia proper, the Holy 
Land, Egypt, Tripoli, Tunisia, Algeria and 
Morocco. Throughout this region the influence 
is wholly French, whatever may be the desti- 
nies of the various political divisions. Turkey 
holds the custom-house arrangements, but the 
language spoken with the outsider is French. 
Egypt is garrisoned by the English, and its 

113 


114 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


prosperity of to-day was, it is true, born of 
Lord Cromer’s English administration, but for 
all that the whole complexion is French, the 
great Suez Canal, the railways and the hotels. 
Tripoli in Barbary is Turkish, but the trading 
steamships, the hotels and most of the mer- 
chants, are French. Tunisia and Algeria are 
French through and through, and Morocco may 
yet become French. 

All these Arab lands are peopled with na- 
tives of the same tongue, speech and senti- 
ments, though they belong to widely differing 
tribes. 

First of all, be it understood that the Arab 
of North Africa is no wild, savage, untamed 
manner of man, but virtually a highly civilized 
one, so far as tradition goes, whether he be 
Berber, Kabyle or Nomad. The Arabs’ popu- 
lar literature, their tales, their legends, their 
proverbs and their songs, are known to be 
many and great by all who have studied the 
folk-lore of the ancients. Furthermore they 
occupy a field which has been but slightly 
explored save in the ‘‘ Thousand and One 
Nights ’’ and certain other works more specu- 
lative than popular. 

It was Solomon who said that speech was a 
passing wind, and that to harness it one must 


Poetry, Music, and Dancing — 115 


know how to write. The Arab writes from 
right to left, and uses no capitals nor punctua- 
tion. The Arab knows two forms of writing: 
neskhi, that belonging to the common people; 
and the diouant, of officialdom. The Arabs and 
Moors of Spain of other days wrote with a 
beauty and elegance which to-day has sadly 
degenerated among all the tribes. 

A good handwriting is greatly in honour 
among the Arabs. ‘‘ Fine writing augments 
one’s reputation for truth,’’ says Qalqachandi. 
The Arab writes with a sort of bamboo or rose- 
tree switch, which he cuts into a point, and he 
has never yet heard of a steel or gold pen, nor 
suspected that a goose-quill would answer. For 
ink he burns sheep’s wool, adds gum-water to 
the cinders, and makes a concoction which, for 
his purpose, answers well enough. We who 
are rather particular about such things will 
not care for its colour or quality. 

The Arab, as a matter of fact, writes but 
little, and composes his letters after traditional 
types and forms. Formalities have a promi- 
nent place. He ‘‘ begs to intimate ’’ and ‘‘ has 
the honour to be”’ all through the list, until 
one doubts if he ever can get the kernel out of 
the nut, and the subject-matter is treated in 
cyclopedic form, 


116 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





If the Arab who writes is ‘‘ classy,’’ and if 
he occupies a sufficiently high social position, 
he seals his letter with a cachet, as did our own 
forefathers, and he also imprints a mark or 
cipher for a signature; otherwise he signs him- 
self ‘‘ Ali-Ben something or other, the poor- 
devil - of - a - sheep - herder - in - the - moun- 
tains-of-the far-away-never-never-land.’’ Ac- 
cording to the briefness of the signature you 
are thus enabled to judge of the importance of 
a letter without reading it through. 

This doesn’t matter to the Arab, for he has 
a very poor idea of the value of time or even 
of the passing of time. His notions with re- 
gard to many things may only be described as 
vague. If he is ill, he goes to a doctor, perhaps 
even a French one, if he lives near the towns, 
but immediately the practitioner begins inter- 
rogating him he asks: ‘‘ Why is it, you, who 
are a savant, do not know what is the matter 
with me without asking all these questions? ’’ 
Many of us have thought the same about our 
own doctors! 

The Arabs have a sort of ‘‘ Jo Miller Joke 
Book,’’ or ‘* Old Farmer’s Almanac,’’ contain- 
ing many antiquated sayings. Here is an ex- 
ample: 


Poetry, Music, and Dancing 117 


A man asked confidingly of another, ‘‘ Will 
you lend me fifty piastres? ”’ 

‘¢ But I don’t know you,’’ was the reply. 

‘‘ It is for that reason that I ask,’’ said the 
seeker after unearned wealth. 

Pretty bad, even in the translation; but our 
own comic almanacs and Sunday supplements 
do considerably worse sometimes. 

The Arab’s proverbs, or sayings, have be- 
come classic, and he has perverted or perhaps 
simplified many of the sayings of other 
tongues: 

‘¢ All is not water that flows down-hill.’’ 

‘‘ Not every roof is a heaven.’’ 

‘¢ Not every house is a House of God.”’ 

The sentiments expressed by the above are 
not possible of being misunderstood, and our 
own similar sayings are not improvements. 
Chief among Arab tales and proverbs are those 
concerning horses and mules. ‘‘ The fortresses 
of the Arabs are their horses and guns.”’ 

The folk-lore and tales, current mostly by 
word of mouth, of the Arab of the Sahara is 
apparently very abundant. Lach tribe, nay, 
each encampment, one meets on the march has 
its Tusitala or teller of tales, as do the South 
Sea Island communities. Tales, legends, tradi- 


118 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





tions, fables and even accounts of travel make 
up the repertory of the Arab story-teller; be- 
sides which there are songs and chants, relig- 
ious and profane, many of them perhaps da- 
ting back before the days of Mohammed. 

The mule has ever been the butt of Arab 
proverb and legend. There is a story of a 
wood-cutter of the forests of Kabyle who, hav- 
ing left his mule tied to a tree in a half-hidden 
spot, found it gone when he went to look for 
it after finishing his day’s work. ''wo robbers 
— just plain horse-thieves — had come up pre- 
viously, and one had made away with the mule, 
leaving its bridle and saddle harnessed on the_ 
other fellow who remained behind. 

‘Who are you? ’’ asked the wood-chopper, 
‘¢ and where 1s my mule? ”’ as he came up. 

‘‘T was your mule, good master; years ago 
I insulted my parents and God turned me into 
a mule.”’ 

The wood-chopper, astonished, knew not what 
to say or do. 

‘¢ But I will stay with you always,’’ said the 

hieving rascal, merely to gain time. 

‘¢ Well, I don’t want you; you are free,” 
the woodman replied generously. 

Three days later, in the public market-place, 
he saw and recognized his mule in the hands 


Poetry, Music, and Dancing 119 


of a trader. He did not dare claim him, or 
rather he could not make his claim good, so he 
tweaked the mule’s ears and shouted at him: 
‘¢ So you’ve been insulting your parents again, 
have you? Well, to serve you right, may you 
find a harsher master than [.”’ 

Another favourite subject of Arab story and 
proverb makers is that of the farmer and his 
crops. The following is a fair sample: — 

Satan appeared one day before an Arab 
sowing his fields, introduced himself and said 
that half the world belonged to him, and that 
he claimed half the coming crop. 

‘¢ Very well,’? said the labourer, ‘‘ which 
half? That which is above ground or that 
which is below? ”’ 

The Devil was no agriculturist, he could not 
tell pumpkin seeds from turnip seeds, so he 
said simply that he wouldn’t be put off with the 
roots. That what he wanted was that which 
grew above ground. On the day of the har- 
vest the Devil came around for his share — and 
got it, turnip tops, good for greens, if boiled, 
but otherwise food for cattle. 

The next sowing time he came again. This 
time he claimed that which was below ground 
—and got it. The Arab had sown buckwheat, 
of which all Arabs are very fond. 


120 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 








Furious and speechless with anger, the Devil 
took flight and vowed he would have no more 
to do with the race. This tale bears some re- 
semblance to the European legend of St. Crepin 
and the Devil, which the peasant of Mid-France 
tells regularly to his family twice each year, 
once at the sowing and once at the reaping. 
It is a classic. Query: Did the Arab steal his 
tale from the Auvergnat, or did the latter ap- 
propriate it from the former? 

The native music of all African tribes is of 
slight importance. It never reaches a great 
height. It is simply a piercing, dismal wail, 
and since it 1s invariably produced by instru- 
ments which look as if they could produce noth- 
ing else, this is not to be wondered at. 

There is method in the native musician’s 
effort, however, whether he hails from Kaby- 
he, the Soudan or the Congo. 

Chiefly their instruments are of the appear- 
ance and value of penny whistles, toy drums 
and home-made fiddles. 

It may be true that the soul of a people mani- 
fests itself in musical expression, but if so the 
African’s soul is a very minor thing in his 
make-up. 

The vibrating chant of the Bedouin Arab, 
accompanied by the music of his crude instru- 


PRR Rae Pete. 





nN 


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ran Musicta 


tan 


An Arab 





Poetry, Music, and Dancing 121 





ments, reminds one of Théophile Gautier’s 
phrase: ‘‘ The making of music was a troub- 
lesome, noisy amusement.’’ Coming out from 
beneath one of the ‘‘ Great Tents ’’ of an en- 
campment, or from behind a sand-dune of the 
desert, it 1s suggestive of an exotic mystery. 
But when one comes actually to face ‘‘ La mu- 
sique Arabe,’’ one calls it simply idiotic, and 
nothing else. This even though the stolid Ber- 
ber affirms that it 7s an expression of his very 
soul. Musical intuition is one thing and mu- 
sical education quite another. 

The real king of an Arab orchestra is the 
bendir player. His is the most violent exer- 
cises of all the players. The bendir is a drum, 
a sort of a cross between a tambourine and 
a flour-sieve. There may be a whole battery 
of accompanying musical instruments, or there 
may be only a supporting pipe or flute. The 
pipe may be played alone, but the bendir never. 
These two instruments are the invariable ac- 
companiment of the serpent charmer and the 
man who eats scorpions for the delectation of 
tourists, at a franc a time. He doesn’t really 
eat them — but that is another story. 

Seriously, those who have delved into the 
subject pretend to have discovered method in 
the music of the Arab; but the ‘‘ Hymne Khé- 


122 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 








divial,’?’ which charms Mediterranean tourists 
on the terrace of Shepheard’s Hotel at Cairo 
is nothing Arab at all. On the other hand, the 
‘< Marche Hamidié,’’ which one hears at Tan- 
gier, is banal enough to be pure Arab, and ‘‘ La 
Musique Beylicale ’’ at Tunis sounds more like 
the blows of a pick-axe on a water-pipe than 
anything else. 

When it comes to the street music of the 
big towns, that of the dancers, and of the fol- 
lowers of marriage and funeral processions, 
there is a repetition of the same dreary wail; 
a mild imitation of the Scotch pibroch or the 
binow one hears in Brittany. 

Arab music possesses, however, we learn, a 
certain formal notation which is seemingly too 
complicated to admit of setting forth here. 

The composition of an Arab orchestra is not 
always the same; there are divers combina- 
tions. There is always a bendir, and there are 
tabellas and chekacheks or pipes; and again 
more pipes or flutes, smaller in size; and a 
gambri and perhaps a mejoued, the latter prac- 
tically imitations of European mandolines and 
violas. With these crazily mixed elements are 
given the concerts that one hears so often in 
the open air or in the Moorish cafés. The 
music, if music it is, rises and falls in erratic 





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124 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





cadences, sometimes brutal and sometimes soft; 
but never melodious and always shrill and 
brassy. 

Whether or no Arab music is great music 
is no part of the writer of this book to attempt 
to explain. The following anecdote of the late 
Bey of Tunis, who died in 1906, has some bear- 
ing on the question of native taste in that 
line. 

About fifty years ago, before the legions of 
France invaded the country, the Mussulman 
sovereigns of the period regularly bought Eu- 
ropean slaves, brought to them by pirate ships 
cruising in the Mediterranean. One of these 
unfortunate captives, brought before the Bey 
of Tunis and questioned as to his capabilities, 
admitted in a rash moment that he was the 
leader of an orchestra. 

‘¢ Just what I want,’’ said the Bey. ‘‘ I al- 
ways wished to have a band.’’ 

The prisoner began to feel uncomfortable. 
He saw the grave danger which menaced him. 
There were no instruments, and to his Maj- 
esty he explained that he must have a big drum, 
several little ones, large and small flutes, 
violins and violoncellos, trombones and cym- 
bals. 

‘¢T have more than enough to pay for all 


Poetry, Music, and Dancing 125 





you want,’’ was the answer of the Bey. And 
he gave an order to buy the instruments. 

‘¢ But the musicians? ’’ queried the prisoner 
in alarm. 

‘‘ Musicians! I will give you fifty negroes.’’ 

‘* But,’’ asked the orchestra leader, in de- 
spair, ‘‘ do the negroes know music? ”’ 

‘¢ That,’’ answered the Bey, ‘‘ is your affair, 
and if in a month they cannot play an air be- 
fore me, you will be impaled, that’s all.’’ 

The captive turned away, feeling that he had 
only one more month to live. But he thought he 
would see what the negroes could do. So he 
began to teach them, and for fourteen hours a 
day he made them practise on their instruments, 
giving them—as he was a Frenchman—a 
simple air, ‘‘ Maman, les p’tits bateaux — qu 
vont sur l’eau — ont-ils des jambes?’’ But his 
efforts only plunged him in a deeper despair. 
One of the flute-players managed to repeat 
more or less accurately four or five measures, 
but the violinists could never get more than one 
note from their instruments. The trombones 
produced a series of most melancholy sounds. 
Only the big drum rose to the height of the 
occasion. When the fatal date arrived, the Bey 
summoned the leader of the orchestra before 
him. 


126 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 








‘¢ Are you ready? ’’ he asked. 

‘¢ Your Majesty —’’ began the trembling 
musician. 

‘(Then play!’’ was the imperative com- 
mand. 

The fifty negroes commenced to tune up their 
instruments. But no two of them ever got the 
same key, and the discord they made was inde- 
scribable. However, when they seemed to have 
reached some semblance of unison, the leader 
gave the signal to commence, and the dusky 
orchestra attacked ‘‘ Les p’tits bateaux.’’ The 
result was heartrending, and as the ear-split- 
ting torture proceeded the leader said to him- 
self: ‘‘ In another ten minutes I shall be im- 
paled.”’ 

The concert finally came to an end unex- 
pectedly with a solo on the big drum. The Bey 
kept silence for a minute, while the leader’s 
knees quaked against each other. 

‘‘ It ig not bad,’’ said his Majesty, slowly, 
‘* but I liked the first air best.’’ 

The first air was the discordant attempt 
made by the negroes to tune their instruments. 
The leader of the orchestra began to breathe 
again. And from that time he gave concerts 
every day, and grew old and wealthy in the 
service of the court of the Bey of Tunis. 


Poetry, Music, and Dancing 127 





If one had only ears with which to hear, and 
no eyes with which to sea, this music could 
readily be likened to that which accompanied 
the dancers of the King of Cambodia. This, 
at any rate, is the impression given the writer; 
he has heard both kinds, and there is no choice 
between them. 

Dancing among the Arabs is a profession 
abandoned to the lower classes of women, and 
to slaves. There are two schools, as one might 
say: those who go around to the houses of the 
rich and dance for the edification of their em- 
ployers and their guests, like the entertainers, 
the ‘‘ lady-whistlers ’’ and unsuccessful opera 
stars of other lands; and a less recherché class 
who are to all intents and purposes mere street 
dancers of a morality several shades removed 
from Esmeralda. 

These latter, the ‘‘ anadlem publiques,’’ as 
they are designated in the Frenchified towns of 
the littoral, are known otherwise as ghaoudzy, 
and by supposedly blasé travellers as almas, 
which indeed they are not, any more than are 
they houris. A musician of questionable talent 
usually accompanies these street dancers, and 
picks out a monotonous minor twang to which 
the ‘‘ dancers ’’ jerk and twist and shrug, and 
then come around for a collection if they don’t 


I 





128 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


‘“ dance ’’ themselves into a state of coma — in 
which case they take up the collection first 

The danseuses of Biskra, Tunis and Constan- 
tine are daring, dusky beauties whose lives at 
any rate are more wholesome than those lived 
by the same class in the dance halls of Europe. 
There is a savagery about them and their dress 
that makes for a suggestion of another world; 
and if they are immoral it is because the stran- 
gers who have come among them have made 
them so. ‘‘ It wasn’t so before the white man 
eame,’’ is the plaint of many an exotic race. 
The Gringo complains of the American and his 
innovations, the Hindu wails loudly against the 
Englishman, and the Arab protests against the 
Latin and the Turk. 


CHAPTER VIII 
ARABS, TURKS, AND JEWS 


TuHrovecHout North Africa, from Oran to 
Tunis, one encounters everywhere, in the town 
as in the country, the distinct traits which mark 
the seven races which make up the native popu- 
lation: the Moors, the Berbers, the Arabs, the 
Negroes, the Jews, the Turks and the Kou- 
loughs. One may see all these types, living 
their own distinct and characteristic lives, all 
within a radius of a half a dozen leagues of Al- 
giers’ port and quais. 

The Moors and the Berbers are the oldest 
inhabitants of the region, descended, Sallust 
says, ‘‘ from a mingling of the soldiers of the 
army of Hercules, campaigning in Spain and 
Africa, with the Lybians and Gétules of the 
region.”’ 

The indigéne Mussulman population of Al- 
geria and Tunisia is divided into many groups, 
the chief of which are the following : — 

Moors, called by the Arabs the Hadars; not 
a race apart, but the result of a crossing to 

129 


130 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





infmity of all the diverse races of North Af- 
rica. 

Koulouglis, descendants of Turks and Arab 
women. 

_ Kabyles, the pure Berber race, speaking still 
their primitive language uncorrupted. 

Arabs, descendants of the pure Arab of east 
of the Red Sea, but in reality ‘‘ Berber-Arabs,’’ 
as the French know them, who still preserve in 
all its purity the Arab tongue, manners, and 
retain its ancient dress. 

The Moors and the Koulouglis tend more 
and more to lose their individuality; the Ka- 
byle is practically stationary; whilst the Ber- 
ber-Arab is increasing in numbers at his tradi- 
tional rate, — and here and there becoming so 
highly civilized that he wears store clothes and 
carries a revolver instead of a gun. He has 
also learned to drink absinthe and beer, in the 
towns, at least those of him who have become 
less orthodox. 

There are two distinct classes of Arabs, those 
of the cities and those of the ‘‘ Great Tents.’’ 
The former, by rubbing up with civilization, 
have become contaminated, whilst the real no- 
mads of the interior still retain all their pris- 
tine force of character. The Arab hides with 
jealousy all particulars of his domestic life, and 


Arabs, Turks, and Jews 131 








is a very taciturn individual, as taciturn almost 
as that classic type that one meets in south- 
eastern railway trains in England, fortified be- 
hind a copy of ‘‘ The Thunderer.’’ 

The docile, contemplative nature of the Arab 
permits him to pass long hours in a state of 
mental abstraction that would drive a man of 





ARAB of ZéeTELL | ARAB of ORAN | BERBER-ARAB 


affairs of the western world crazy. The Arab, 
however, is not hostile to activity, or even 
amusement, and will gamble for hours at some 
silly little game. 

The Arab of the town apparently spends a 
good part of his time in a café. He drinks the 
subtle infusion, grounds and all, in innumera- 


132 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


ble potions, and plays at chess, cards or check- 
ers. 

For further amusement the Arab is quite 
content to gaze drowsily at the singing and dan- 
cing girls, the er rnaia and ech chtahat, who 
make music, of a kind, and gyrate with con- 
siderably more fervour than grace. All the 
time his ear 1s soothed by as howling a discord 
as one will hear out of the practice hall of a vil- 
lage band in America or of ‘‘ La Musique des 
Sapeurs-Pompiers ’’’ of the small town in 
France. Two guitars of sorts, and of most 
bizarre shape, a two-stringed fiddle (called a 
rbab) and a half a dozen Arab flutes (jouaks), 
each being played independently, cannot be ex- 
pected to make harmony. 

The Arab has his story-teller, too, a species 
of ballad singer or reciter who, for a price, tells 
stories, fables, and legends. 

Among this class of professional story-tellers 
are the gouals, the improvisers, and the mé- 
dahs, who are more like revivalists than moun- 
tebanks, and about as fanatical as the shrieking 
sisters of a ‘‘ down-south ’’ camp-meeting. 

The Arab himself regards all stolidly, 
smokes and drink away, and doesn’t leave the 
café sometimes for days. It’s an orgie, if you 
like, but less reprehensible than the bridge- 


Arabs, Turks, and Jews t33 


playing, drinking bouts of civilization, which 
last too often from Saturday until Monday 
morning. 

The Arab of the desert, or the Bedouin, 
shows to advantage when compared with the 
town-dwelling Arab of the coast settlements, 
and whether he be Sheik of a tribe or Cadi of 
a community, is a hospitable, kindly person 
with even — at times — a sense of humour, and 
a guile which is rare in these days of artful- 
ness. The town Arab, the ‘‘ dweller within the 
walls,’’ is not primarily wicked or unreliable, 
but he has mixed with the sordid ways of com- 
mercialism, and his favours — extended always 
with a smile — are apt to bear a distinct rela- 
tion to what he hopes to get out of you. If he 
is simply an ordinary individual, or a gamin 
who points out your road, his quid pro quo is 
not likely to be more than a cigarette, but the 
merchant of a bazaar who offers you coffee — 
and makes you take it, too — charges for it in 
the bill, if even your purchase of a ‘‘ fatmah ”’ 
charm, or a pair of ‘‘ babouches ’’ amounts to 
no more than two francs in value, — bargained 
down, of course, from his original demand of 
a hundred sous. 

Like the Chinaman, the Arab can smile 
blandly when he wants to put you off the track. 


134 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


A smile that begins at the corners of the mouth 
and extends so that it makes a wrinkle at the 
nape of the neck is disconcerting to all but the 
smiler. That’s the Arab kind of a smile. 

With all his faults and virtues the Arab of 
to-day is not a great offender; he is only an 
obstructionist. Indolent, insouciant and apa- 
thetic, the Arab lives to-day as in the past, in- 
different to all progress. If you show him your 
typewriter, your fountain-pen or your kodak, 
he shrugs his shoulders and says simply, 
‘‘ Maboule! Maboule! You are fools! You are 
fools! Why try to kill time! ’’ 

At Msaken, a frontier post in Tunisia, which 
was established only fifteen or a score of years 
ago, and has already attained a population of 
ten thousand souls, a protest was actually pre- 
sented to the government by the Arab popula- 
tion, asking that the great trading-route into 
the desert be not laid down through their city, 
but that they, the awndigénes, be left to peace 
and tranquillity. 

To sum the Arab up in a few words is dif- 
ficult. He is a frequenter of that path which 
lies between the straight way of virtue and the 
quagmire of deceit. He is not alone in his pro- 
fession, but it is well to define his position ex- 
actly. Like the Indian and the Chinaman, the 


Arabs, Turks, and Jews E35 


Arab is deceitful, but scrupulously honest as 
far as appropriating anything that may rightly 
belong to you is concerned, when it comes to 
actual business transactions. A bargain once 
made with an Arab is inviolate. ‘‘ Ils ne sont 
pas mauvais ces gens, mais ils sont voleurs 
quand méme,’’ says every Frenchman of the 
Arab, unjustly in many cases, no doubt, but 
true enough in the general run. You must 
make your bargain first. 

The real Arab — meaning literally a tent- 
dweller, for, in a certain sense, the town- 
dweller is no Arab — loves first and above all 
his horse. Next he loves his firearm, which 
poetically ought to be a six-foot, gold-inlaid, 
muzzle-loading matchlock, which would kick 
any man but an Arab flat on his back at every 
shot; actually in Algeria or Tunis the Arab is 
the possessor of a modern breech-loader. Next 
to his gun he loves his eldest son. Last comes 
his wife—or wives. Daughters don’t even 
count; he doesn’t even know how many he has. 
Until some neighbour comes along and pro- 
poses to marry one of them, a daughter is only 
a chattel, a soulless thing, though often a 
pretty, amiable, helpful being. The Arab of 
the settlements may be a lover of horse-flesh, 
too, but he only professes it; any old hack is 


136 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





good enough for him to ride. He will descant 
to you all the livelong day on the beauties and 
qualities of some rare specimen of the equine 
race which he has at the home of his father, 
back in the ‘‘ Great Tents; ’’ but meanwhile he 
drives, or rides, a sorry spavined nag fit only 
for the bone-yard. 

North Africa is not only the Land of Sun- 
shine; it is also the land of the burnous. This 
soft, floating drapery which clothes the Arab 
so majestically, whatever may be his social 
rank, — miserable meskine or opulent Caid, — 
is a thing fearfully and wonderfully made. 

There are burnouses and burnouses, as there 
are cheeses and cheeses. This ideal garment of 
the Mussulman Arab differs at times in form 
and colour and quality, but it is always a simple 
burnous. The Sheik of a tribe or the Caid of 
a village wraps himself in a rich red robe, and 
the poor vagabond Arab of the hills and desert 
makes the best showing he can with his sordid 
pieced-up rag of a mantle. 

The classic burnous is woven of a creamy 
white lamb’s wool, or that of a baby camel, 
though often its immaculateness is of but a 
brief duration. The Caid and the Sheik rise 
above this, and the nomad often descends to a 
gunny-sack, from which exhales an odour sui 


Arabs, Turks, and Jews 137 


generis; but one and all carry it off with grace 
and éclat, as does the Arlésienne the fichu, and 
the Madrillienne the mantilla. It is the gar- 
ment that is worn by the Arab of the towns, 
by the lone sheep-herder of the plains, and by 
the nomad of the desert. 

An Arab shepherd is a happy mortal if he 
can gain twenty francs a month, a little pap 
for breakfast, a dish of couscous for dinner, 
and a new burnous once a year. He will spend 
all his income (for he, apparently, as all his 
tribe, has acquired a taste for strong drink, 
though even he will not partake of it when it 
is red) on absinthe, of a kind, and tobacco, of 
a considerably better kind, every time he comes 
to town. How he clothes himself had best not 
be inquired into too closely, for excepting the 
burnous, he is mostly clothed in rags. The 
burnous is as effectual a covering as charity. 

The Arab officials, the Sheik of a tribe, the 
Caid, and the Cadi even, are all ‘‘ decorated ”’ 
as a sort of supernumerary reward for their 
services on behalf of the established govern- 
ment. 

One day en voyage —in a compartiment of 
that slow-going express train which runs daily 
from Algiers to El Guerrah, and takes four- 
teen hours to do what it ought to, and will ac- 


138 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


complish, in six, when they get some American 
locomotives to take the place of the old crocks 
now in service,— we met a young Caid of a 
tribe of the Tell who had been summoned to 
Algiers to get the collaret of the Legion be- 
stowed upon his manly breast. He was deco- 
rated already, for he was the son of the ‘‘ Great 
Tents ’? and a powerful man in his community, 
but he was ready enough to make a place for 
another éfoile. He said in his queer jargon 
French: ‘‘ Li gouvernement y vian di me donnt 
L’Itowle di Ligien. Jt suis content d’avoir.’’ 
We sympathized with him, were glad for him, 
and we parted, each on our respective ways, 
and by this time he is home waiting and hoping 
for the next. What won’t a man do for a bout 
de ruban or a silver star? 

The Arab’s French is much like our own — 
queer at times, but it 1s expressive. The fol- 
lowing beauties of judicial eloquence, from the 
bench of an Arab justice of the peace will ex- 
plain the situation better than any further com- 
ment. With the Arab the Irish ‘‘ bull ’’ be- 
comes a French “ goat.’’ 

““On peut entrer dans un cabaret sans étre 
Vamant de quelqu’n.’’ 

This is good enough French, though the sen- 
timent is of doubtful morality. 


Arabs, Turks, and Jews 139 


““Le plaignant a lancé, alors, un coup de 
sifflet de désespow.’’ 

A “‘ sifflet de désespoir’’ is presumably 
something akin to a wail. 

‘* Le plaignant s’est adressé a la police parce 
qu’ désirait rentrer dans ses bouteilles.’’ 

‘“ Dans ses bouteilles,’’ may be Arab-French 
for ‘‘ in his cups ’’ — or it may not. 

‘Tl portera de deuil aussi longtemps que sa 
femme sera morte.”’ 

She will be dead a long time, no doubt, once 
having taken the fatal step. 

‘* Je dirai encore deux mots, mais je serar 
trés brief.’’ 

Two words! That is very brief. 

‘Tl n’a laissé que des descendants en ligne 
collatérale.’’ 

What is a collateral descendant? 

The Arabs’ struggles with French should 
give the rest of the world, who are not French, 
courage. They seem to care little for tenses 
or numbers, but they make their way neverthe- 
less. A Zou Zou, in calling your attention to 
something, says simply, ‘* Regarde,’’ but you 
understand, and so does he when you say ‘‘ Re- 
gardez,’’ so what matter! 

The Arab nourishes himself well, as well as 
circumstances will allow, though it must be re- 


140 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





membered that the tenets of his religion call 
for abstemiousness. He differs from the Greek 
of old in that he believes in a good dinner 
and a light supper. ‘‘ Hh bien!’’ said the 
traveller Montmaur, ‘‘Z will dine with the 
Arab and sup with the Greeks.’’ 

The Arab is a connoisseur in tea and coffee, 
and an adept at cigarette smoking. 

Couscous is the plat du jour with the Arab. 
It is his national dish. Mutton or lamb (kebeh 
or kherouf) is almost the only meat, and most 
frequently the Arab roasts the carcass whole, 
spitted on a branch. He roasts it before, or 
over, an open fire, and accordingly it is all the 
better for that. In America we bake our meats, 
which is barbaric; and in England they boil 
them, which is worse. The Arab knows bet- 
ter. | 

The Arab eats his meat a la main, gnaws it 
with his teeth, and pulls it apart with his fin- 
gers; the delicate morsel, the titbit, is the kid- 
ney, and he is a lucky Arab who grabs it first, 
though if you are a guest in his tent he reserves 
it for you. Beef is seldom, if ever, eaten, but 
camel is in high esteem, the hump (hadba) be- 
ing the best ‘‘ cut.’’ Pork (el hallouf) is ab- 
horred by the true Mussulman. He has reason! 
Dried meat or smoked meat, like the jerked 


Arabs, Turks, and Jews 141 


beef of the Far West, is often carried on long 
desert journeys, when fresh meat is as scarce 
a commodity as it was on an Indiaman a hun- 
dred days out from Bombay a century ago. 

The Arab eats soup, when he takes the 
trouble to make it, and he knows well its con- 
eocting. For pastry, too, the Arab has a sweet 
tooth, and it also frequently comes into the 
menu, with honey and dates predominating in 
its make-up. 

The Arab smokes kif also, a concoction whose 
iniquitous effects are only equalled by those of 
the state-protected opium of Bengal. 

These voluptuous epicurean Arabs smoke 
kif, not surreptitiously, but guiltily. Carefully 
they wipe their pipes and cook the little ball 
of drug, and offer it to you first with all the 
grace and seductiveness of a houri. You don’t 
~ accept, and they smoke it themselves, and in a 
short space drop off into a semi-intoxicated 
condition, forgetful of the world in the stupe- 
fying smoke which haloes about their heads. 
Like opium with the Chinaman, kif is the curse 
of the Arab. 

After the Arabs and the Berbers, the Jews 
are the most striking race one meets on the 
African coast, or even in the interior,. where 
they herd to themselves in some dingy quarter 


142 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


of an Arab village and ply their trades of jew- 
ellers, leather workers, embroiderers and, of 
course, as money changers. They talk Hebrew 
among themselves and Arabic with natives, and 
they are as clannish as Scotchmen. 

The Berber and the Jew and the Arab are 
necessary to:-each other, whether they are town 
dwellers, village inhabitants or nomads. They 
make business, each of them, and they don’t 
live by taking in each other’s washing — as 
does the indigenous population of the Scilly 
Islands, or by exploiting tourists —as do the 
Swiss. Altogether the social system as worked 
out by the mixed races of North Africa seems 
to be a success. 

One curses the Jews in Algeria and Tunisia, 
but then one curses them everywhere for the 
same attributes. The Hebrew of Algeria is in 
no way different from those of his brethren in 
other Mediterranean countries, and here he has 
a craftsman’s mission to fill and he fills it very 
well. Catch a Jew and make him into a tailor, 
a jeweller or a banker, and he is more adept 
at these professions than men of any other race 
on earth. 

Are the Jews and Mussulmans men like other 
sons of Adam? This is a question which has 
been asked and reasked since the earliest times 





Jewish Women of Tunis 





Sv 


a6 


= 





Arabs, Turks, and Jews 143 


of history, and no one yet seems to have decided 
the question. When the Papal See was trans- 
ferred to Avignon in the Comtat Venaissin (it 
was for seventy years rooted in France), the 
position of the Jews seems to have been de- 
fined, and they were put on a par with orthodox 
religionists. But before and since, their status 
has been less readily defined. Froissart put it 
in non-contradictory words when he said that 
except in the lands of the church (in the Com- 
tat), these aliens were everywhere chased and 
persecuted. 

This reference to the church and the Jews 
recalls the fact that many Arab slaves of Bar- 
bary were owned by the Papal powers in the 
days when the traffic was a profitable one for 
Turkish pachas. 

The slaves of Barbary were known all 
through the Mediterranean. Civita Vecchia in 
the eighteenth century, directly under Papal 
patronage, held a number of them of which the 
following is a description from an old rec 
ord: — 


Arab Names Namesinthe Galleys Nationality Age Health 


Papass Papass Tunis 45 Good 
Acmet Buffalotto Tripoli 40 « 
Mamchet Marzocco Alger 45 « 
Mesaud Piantaceci 6“ 35 “ 


Machmet Mezza Luna “ 30 “ 


144 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Aamor Bella Camiscia Alger 30 Good 
Machmet Il Gabbiano “ 30 “ 
Ali Nettuno Tunis 40 Mediocre 
Aamor Carbone Tripoli 30 Good 


These men in fact were for service in the 
Pontifical galley. 

They were a fine race of servants, evidently! 

The Jews are much less numerous in Algeria 
than in Morocco and Tunisia, but they take on 
a very considerable commercial importance in 
the picturesque conglomerate ensemble of peo- 
ples in the cities like Algiers, Oran or Tunis; 
they gather the small savings of the nomad 
races in a way that is the marvel of all who 
know their trade. Furthermore, as French 
citizens, they play no small part in political 
affairs. What they lack in numbers they make 
up in power, and the money-lending trade, 
while seemingly in disrepute, is quite a neces- 
sary one in commercial communities. 

The Jews lend money to Christians the world 
over, men and nations alike, and in Africa they 
do the same to the improvident Arab. Clearly 
the Jew has a mission in life; he has found 
it out, and he sticks to it, and has ever since 
that historic hour in the Temple. 

Of all the mixed races with which one rubs 
shoulders in Northern Africa, it is the Arab 


Arabs, Turks, and Jews 145 


who interests us most. It is his country that 
we are in. It is the Arab who must be our 
guide, philosopher and friend. ‘‘ Ask an Arab 
anything you like,’’ say the French, ‘‘ but ask 
nothing of a Maltese or an Italian.’’ Why, 
they do not tell you, but simply shrug their 
shoulders in the expressive F’‘renchman’s way. 


CHAPTER IX 
SOME THINGS THAT MATTER — TO THE ARAB 


Tere are three kinds of noblesse among the 
Arabs: there is the aristocrat class, the no- 
blesse de race, descended, so they think, from 
Fatma, the daughter of the Prophet; the no- 
blesse militaire, descendants of the Arab con- 
querors, of which Mohammed and his family 
are also descended; and finally the noblesse 
réligieuse, a hereditary noblesse like the pre- 
ceding, but a distinction that can only be ac- 
quired by meritorious be aan of a relig- 
ious duty. 

The tribes each have a head known as a Caid, 
and each tribe is divided into smaller tribes 
and factions who obey implicitly the sub-head 
or Cheikh (sheik). The head of a douar,—a 
group of tents, —if the collection is not great 
enough to have a presiding Sheik, is a sort of 
committee, like the bodies of selectmen of a 
New England village. 

Over and above all indigéne control, the 

146 


Some Things That Matter 147 


French administration is the real head of the 
Arabs in Algeria, and the Tunisian French 
fonctionnaires hold the same powers in Tu- 
nisia. 

The Arab or Kabyle chiefs in Algeria are 
merely the agents for the execution of the gov- 
ernment’s laws, civil or military, and in Tu- 
nisia the laws for each province (outhan) are 
made known to the Caid by the authorities, and 
it is he who is held responsible for their observ- 
ance. As for punishment for a crime com- 
mitted, — for they are not all plaster saints, — 
the Arabs would much prefer the old Turkish 
bastinado to a sentence behind prison walls or 
a fine in money, sheep or goats. Does civiliza- 
tion civilize? 

The Arabs are full of wise saws mostly 
adopted from the Koran, or from the Apocry- 
phal books of the Prophet. They have a saying 
which might well be put into a motto suitable 
for the creed of any man: — 

‘‘ El-Khams, El-Miter, El-Ansab and EI- 
Aglane are the inventions of the devil.’’ 

El-Khams is worry; El-Miter is gambling; 
El-Ansab are the stones or thorns in one’s 
road; and EHl-Aglane is the argument by sword 
instead of by reason. The following might well 
be printed in Gothic script and hung in our own 


148 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





‘‘ dens ’’ and boudoirs along with Stevenson’s 
‘< Prayer.’’ 

“When a woman says to her husband, I 
have never received a single benefit from you, 
all the good acts she may have done lose their 
value.’’ 3 

‘“ God detests those who show pride before 
their compantons.”’ 

““Go a mile to visit a sick man, two miles to 
reconcile a pair of quarrellers and three miles 
to see a holy man.”’ | 

““When you think of the faults of your 
neighbours, think also of your own.’’ 

‘‘He who salutes thee first is free from 
pride.’’ 

‘* God hates dirtiness and disorder.’’ 

With respect to this last, the Arab performs 
his ablutions with great regularity and devo- 
tion, but by contrast, curiously enough, en- 
shrouds himself frequently in dirty, verminous 
rags. 

The most detested sequence of events that 
ean happen to an Arab are ranked as fol- 
lows : — 

I. The drunkenness which makes a fool of 
a man. 

II. The sleep which dissipates the drunken- 
ness, 


Some Things That Matter 149 


Ill. And the chagrin which destroys the 
sleep. 

The emotion has been felt by others, who 
eannot slip on and off the peau de chagrin as 
did Balzae’s hero. - 

The Arabs explain their abstention from 
wine by an act of the Prophet forbidding its 
use. 

One day the Prophet saw, in passing, a group 
of young men who were making free and drink- 
ing of wine. He blessed them, saying, ‘‘ Drink 
at your ease, you have the benediction of God.’’ 
At the end of a brief interval the Prophet, 
passing that way again, saw them disputing 
among themselves, and learned that one had 
been killed. Thereupon he vowed upon their 
heads that ‘‘ wine was a curse upon them, and 
that not one who was given to it should hope 
to enter Heaven.”’ 

Among the Arab indigénes to-day, one re- 
marks an almost total abstention from the 
‘wine when it is red.’’ Contrariwise they 
may frequently be seen drinking white wine, 
and indeed they have a great fondness for 
champagne, — but they are not particular about 
the brand, the label on the bottle means noth- 
ing to them, so long as it is a gaudy one, and 
so, like many Americans, they drink something 


150 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


which they think is RENE SE etS, and is just as 
66 heady. >) 

Arab hospitality is famous, their very man- 
ner of life, even to-day, as in olden times, makes 
it a sort of compulsory tenet of their creed. 


« Tda andek ktir, ati men mulek. 
Ida andek glil, ati men galbeck.” 


“Tf you have much, give of your best. 
If you have little, give from the heart.” 


Never ask an Arab his age; you will be dis- 
appointed if you do. The Arabs have no civil 
register and generally ignore their exact age, 
frequently reckoning only by some great event 
which may have happened within their mem- 
ories, like the ‘‘ Uncle Toms ’”’ and ‘‘ Old Mam- 
mies ’’ of ‘‘ way down Souf.’’ With such a 
rule-of-thumb reckoning, you are likely to re- 
main as much in the dark as before. 

It is a belief among the Arabs that they can 
carry on a conversation with animals. Not all 
amongst them are thus accomplished, but the 
speech of animals, they say, can be learned, and 
many of their head men know it. They share 
this belief with other Orientals; but there is 
no proof that they have learned their lessons 
as well as did Garner in his attempts to acquire 
‘‘ monkey talk.’? The Arabs, too, are supersti- 


Some Things That Matter 151 


tious. They believe in the evil eye, and they 
object most decidedly and vociferously if you 
point your finger at them; also, they wear 
charms and amulets against disease and disas- 
ter. 

They used to object to the camera man and 
the artist, but to-day, since they have come to 
learn that you carry away with you no actual 
part of themselves, only an impression, their 
attitude has changed. 

The Arab warrior must have ten qualities, 
or he is déclassé in the favour of all other 
Arabs. 

I. The courage of a cock. 

II. The painstaking of a chicken. 

Ill. The heart of a lion. 

IV. The brusqueness of a wild boar. 

V. The tricks of a fox. 

VI. The prudence of a hedgehog. 

VII. The swiftness of a wolf. 

VIII. The resignation of a dog. 

IX. The hand always open. 

X. The sword always drawn, and one sole 
speech for friend or foe. 

The Arab warrior, save as he now serves 
France, has disappeared, but his precepts were 
good ones for a soldier. 

The Arabs’ regard for womankind has often 


152 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


been misunderstood and misstated. Not all 
Mussulmans have the same noble regard for 
womankind. The Turk and the Persian is nota- 
bly a tyrant in his home; and, among the 
Arabs, the Bedouin is frequently a_ brute 
towards his wives and daughters; but the con- 
ventional Arab-Berberisé is quite compassion- 
ate and liberal in his views and treatment of 
the female members of his family. 

“* Aupres de Dieu, le maitre du monde, une 
fille vaut un garcon.’’ 

Thus say the Arabs, but in practice it’s all 
the other way. The boy stays with the family 
and adds his strength and talents to his fath- 
er’s tribe; but the daughter, arriving at the 
marrying age, which comes early with the 
Arabs, leaves not only her family, but the an- 
cestral douar or community, perhaps even the 
tribe, and goes where her new master pleases. 

In a word, the boy is another sword or brain 
for his family’s interests, whilst the daughter 
goes to augment those who may, perhaps, at 
some future time, be enemies of her parents. 

From this one judges that with the Arabs, 
as with many other exotic nations, the birth 
of a son brings real joy to the parental roof- 
tree; but that of a girl merely a lukewarm ex- 
pression of gratification, or perhaps nothing 








Some Things That Matter 153 


more than a disappointed resignation. If it 
is a boy that is new-born, the parents are con- 
gratulated with: ‘‘ God has made you a good 
eift!’’ Ifitis a girl: ‘‘ May you be as happy 
as possible! ’’ is considered as all that is need- 
ful, a sort of commiserating congratulation 
this, and the father perforce responds ordi- 
Matiy. 9 LOG, di. naaar . (It) 18) my 
sorrow.’’) 

Once the child is born, the sex determined, 
the ‘‘ rejoicings,’’ properly called, do not dif- 
fer in one case from the other, for the Arab 
believes profoundly in Mohammed’s diction — 
‘These are the innocents and the Péte des 
Anges must be the same in each case.”’ 

Seven days after the birth, the baby daugh- 
ter’s Féte de Naissance takes place in presence 
of the Caid, the marabout, parents and friends. 
The women cry and sob joyfully, and dance 
with the abandon of a dervish, and the screech 
and roll of the guellal and the flute make things 
hideous for one who has no special responsi- 
bility bound up in the event. The men, too, 
give themselves over to the dance quite as vig- 
orously and quite as gracefully as do the 
women, and a feast—all birth and wedding 
celebrations end with a feast — terminates the 
great event so far as a general participation 


154 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


goes. The eternal couscous is the piéce de 
résistance, with dates, raisins, figs, honey, but- 
ter and milk in addition. 

For a choice of names for their httle daugh- 
ter, the Arab parents, almost without excep- 
tion, choose one of the following : — 


Aicha (the life) Kadra (the blossom) 


Aatika Kneltoum 

Badia Meryem (Marie) 

Djohar (the pearl) Nedjma (the star) 
Fathma Sofia (the pure) 

Fatima (diminutive) Yamina (the prosperous) 
Halima (the gentle) Yetan 

Kheddouma Zina (the belle) 
Khedidja Zinent 

Kreira (the best) Zohra (the flower) 
Kheroufa 


Sometimes the child is given the name of 
some female friend of the family, who agrees 
to act as godmother through the early years 
of its life, and is obliged to spend a relatively 
large sum of money in supplying a baptismal 
present, as do godmothers the world over. The 
boy under the same circumstances would prob- 
ably have been named Mohammed or Achmed 
and have done with it. 

After the actual naming ceremony the great 
bracelet talismans are put on. the girl-child’s 
arms, and a little later a similar decoration wilt 


Some Things That Matter 155 


be given her for her neck. If the parents are 
rich their children are often rudely sent away 
to be nourished and given strength beneath the 
shade of some Saharan oasis, not too far away 
but that they can be visited once a year. The 
nurse who guards the children in their desert 
home is called the second mother, but she is a 
nurse pure and simple and bears no relation 
to the godmother, 

The child is carried pick-a-back by day, by 
one or another of its mothers, clumsily swathed 
in a none too clean-looking woollen cloth during 
the first few months, and at night is securely 
stowed away in a fig-leaf basket which is hung 
from the tent poles, a cradle which is soft, flex- 
ible and cheap. 

Tn time light foods, such as the milk of goats, 
cows, or camels is given the child, and as early 
as possible it is told or shown how to take a 
bath — and made to take it whenever the idea 
enters the parents’ heads. 

For dress, the girl is clothed as becomes the 
station and wealth of her parents; her ears 
are pierced in two or three places, but as no 
jewelry is worn by infants the holes are kept 
open by silk cords. 

The home life of these early years is very 
much en famille among the Arabs of the coun- 


156 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


tryside, with horses, oxen, and cows as dwellers 
under the same roof. 

As soon as possible the child is taught to 
pray according to the religion of its parents. 
Each prayer is preceded by an ablution. Truly 
the Mohammedan religion is a cleanly and puri- 
fying one! 

The practical education of an Arab girl com- 
mences when she is shown how to cut and fit 
a burnous (nothing of the tailor-made or Paris 
mode about this to make it difficult; any one 
who ean handle a pair of scissors can do the 
thing’), to sew a tent-covering together, and the 
thousand and one domestic accomplishments of 
women everywhere, not forgetting spinning 
and weaving. 

In the poorer families, those who live in 
mean, ragged tents, not the ‘‘ Great Tents,’’ 
the child is most likely first set to doing the 
eooking. At the age of fourteen or fifteen, she 
begins to ‘‘ take notice ’’ of the youth of the 
other sex, meanwhile partaking of the fare of 
the family board only when there are no stran- 
gers present. During visits to friends and 
neighbours, or to the marabouts, or at fétes 
given in her honour, the young Arab girl of 
whatever social rank is closely chaperoned, al- 
ways accompanied by her mother. The daugh- 


—_—— < 





¢¢ SJUA J, qoaay) ,, ayn {o alt] ay, 





= AY ete ae 
Se de a 5 





Some Things That Matter Sigh 


ters of the ‘‘ Great Tents ’’ are veiled from 
their tenth year onwards, only the poor remain 
with their visage uncovered. Music is a part 
of the early education of the Arab girl. She 
learns to dance, yatagan in hand; and to play 
the bendir, a sort of Spanish tambourin, and 
the touiba, a similar instrument, somewhat 
smaller and less sonorous. 

At an early age, too, she learns the rudi- 
ments of the arts of coquetry. She puts 
rouge (zerkoun) on her face, and blacks her 
eyelids with koheul; and, finally, colours the 
tips of her toes and fingers a coppery red with 
henna. She has her wrists and ankles tattooed 
in bands or bracelets; and paints beauty spots, 
a star or a crude imitation of a fly, on her 
cheeks or forehead. By this time she is thought 
to be a ravishing beauty. 

Kiven the poorest of Arab families guard 
their daughter’s honour with the greatest cir- 
cumspection, never a doubtful word or phrase 
is uttered in her presence. She is brought up 
in the greatest purity of atmosphere. Should 
there be any doubts as to this, her spouse, even 
on the marriage day, will send her back to her 
parents dressed in a white burnous — with no 
thanks. Dishonour can be punished by death. 
The Cadi is the referee in all matters of dis- 


158 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


pute or doubt of this nature, and his word is 
final. 

Among the wealthiest tribes the daughters 
are often promised in marriage at the age of 
four or five, and frequently they marry between 
ten and fifteen. Indeed they must marry at 
an early age or people say unkind things about 
them. In the Sahara the rich marry three or 
four wives, the poor one, rarely two. One 
may not marry but one wife in any one year. 

The Arab proverbs concerning women are 
many and mostly complimentary. 

‘“ The quarrelsome wife 1s for her spouse a 
heavy burden, but a happy wife is as a crown 
of gold.’’ 

The Arab poet says of his chosen type of 
female beauty : — 

Hair black as the prtinae of the ostrich. 

Forehead wide and eyebrows thick and 
arched. 

Eyes black like a gazelle’s. 

Nose straight and finely modelled. 

Cheeks like bouquets of roses. 

Mouth small and round. 

Teeth like pearls set in coral. 

Lips small and coloured like vermilion. 

Neck white and long. 

Shoulders broad. 


Some Things That Matter 159 


Hands and feet small. 

Manners agreeable. 

Laughter delicate. 

‘‘She must laugh soberly, must not gad 
about nor dispute with her husband or neigh- 
bours, have a well-governed tongue, may rouge 
slightly, guard well the house, and ever give 
good counsel.’’ 

The formula might well be any man’s ideal; 
though the Arabs say when you meet this para- 
gon of a woman, you become crazy, and if she 
leaves you, you will die. All of which may be 
true also! The ideal is one made up of an ap- 
palling array of virtues. 

An Arab tale tells of a warrior horseman, 
El Faad-ben-Mohammed, rich in this world’s 
goods and lands, who met a certain Oumya- 
bent-Abdallah, and would marry her, so beau- 
tiful was she. He sent his emissary to her to 
plead his cause, for he was timid in love, if 
brave in war. 

The young girl asked what might be her 
wooer’s position in life, whereupon his friend 
replied: ‘‘ He is a warrior; when the fight is 
at its thickest, it is he who cleaves a passage 
through the ranks of the foe. He is taciturn and 
sober and knows well how to take adversity.”’ 
This seems a good enough send-off for a proxy 


160 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


to give, but the maid would have none of 
it. She said simply: ‘‘ Go back to your 
friend. It is a lion that you tell me of. He 
wants a lioness, not a woman. I would not 
Stlte 

The suitor for a young girl’s hand among 
the Arabs often does make his demand of her 
parents by proxy; and much bargaining and 
giving and taking of concessions goes on, all 
without embarrassment to the swain. It’s not 
a bad plan! <A contract follows, and finally 
legal sanction. Every Mussulman marriage 
must have the consideration of the dot as a part 
of the legal agreement. The dot may vary with 
the fortunes of the girl’s family, or with the 
condition of the suitor; and, in ease of divorce, 
this dot must be returned to the unfortunate 
lady’s parents, not to her, whatever may be 
the cause. 

The wedding trousseau of the young wife, 
that which she brings in the way of clothes and 
jewelry, must comport with her former sta- 
tion in life; but her dot, which may be in kind, 
not necessarily in money, may be as great as 
the prospective husband can worm out of the 
gitl’s parents. A rich Arab of the ‘‘ Great 
Tents ’? whom we heard of at Jouggourt gave 
up the following: Three camels, fifty sheep, 


Some Things That Matter 161 


eighteen skins, three bolts of cotton cloth 
(made in Manchester — the ‘‘ Manchester 
goods ’’ of commerce as it is known in the 
near and far East); a gun (a Remington so- 
ealled, most likely made in Belgium), with 
brass and silver inlaid in the stock; two pairs 
of silver rings for ankles and wrists; two 
buckles for the haik, a silken burnous, a silk 
sash, a string of coral beads (made of celluloid 
at Birmingham), earrings, a mirror (of 
course) and a red haik, and a melhafa or hatk 
of cotton. 

Among the desert tribes the women of all 
classes of society frequently have their faces 
unveiled; but, as they approach the great 
trade-routes and the cities, they closely enwrap 
the face so that only a pair of glittering black 
eyes peep out. Without regard to class dis- 
tinctions or age all Arab women are passion- 
ately fond of jewelry of all kinds, fmger-rings, 
anklets, bracelets, chains, and brooches. 

Repudiation, or divorce, is legal among the 
Arabs if accomplished in a legal way, and is 
simply and expeditiously brought about. The 
following is an account reported recently in an 
Algerian journal : — 

El Batah had presented himself before the 
Cadi for the purpose of ‘‘ repudiating ’’ his 


162 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


wife, ‘‘ une femme grande et forte, d’une écla- 
tante beauté.’’ ‘* Well, what is it? ’’ said the 
Cadi, scenting in the affair a big fee, at least 
big for him. The Cadi was very much smitten 
by the lady, it appears, though he did not know 
it, or at any rate admit it, at the time. 7 

‘‘T come to complain of my wife, who has 
beaten me and nearly broken in my head,’’ said 
the poor man. 

‘‘ Tt is true,’’ echoed the woman, ‘‘ but I did 
not mean to do it, | am sorry; I ought not to 
be punished.’’ (This doesn’t seem logical, does 
it?) 

‘¢ Well, I shall ‘ repudiate’ her,’’ said the 
man; ‘‘ I will have none of her.’’ 

‘¢ Return her dot, then, to her family,’’ said 
the Cadi. 

‘‘ Great Allah! It is a vaaible it is four 
thousand dirhems, how ean I pay it? ”’ 

By this time the Cadi saw his fat fee vanish- 
ing, and his ardour for the lady of the striking 
beauty rising. He had just lost his fourth wife, 
the Cadi, and there was a place in the ranks for 
another. | 

‘¢ Tf I will give you the sum,’’ said he, ‘‘ will 
you * repudiate ’ this woman? ”’ 

‘‘ Yes, willingly,’’ said the fellow. 


Some Things That Matter 163 


‘¢ Well, here’s your money,’’ said the accom- 
modating official. 

No consideration of the women of North Af- 
rica ought to terminate without a reference to 
the Mauresque, that gracious type found all 
through Northwestern Africa, a product of the 
mixture of the races, an outcome of civilization 
and the growth of the great cities of the sea- 
board. They are usually named Fathma, 
Zohra, Aicha, Houria, Mami, Mimi, Roza, Ou- 
rida, Kheira, ete.; and they leave the bed and 
board of their parents usually between the ages 
of twelve and fourteen to be married, or for 
other reasons. Practically all the world looks 
upon the Mauresques as social outcasts. The 
class had become so numerous about the middle 
of the nineteenth century that the hand of phi- 
lanthropy was held out to them to enable them 
to better their condition in life. They were 
given a rudimentary book education, and were 
taught the art of Oriental embroidery with all 
its extravagance of capricious arabesques and 
threads of gold. 

As for the other class of Mauresques, the 
rikats, those who have become contaminated, 
— for not all are saved, nor ever will be, — one 
recognizes them plainly as of the world worldly 
whenever they take their walks abroad. The 


164 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


sad amusement of visiting mosques and ceme- 
teries is not their sole pleasure, as it is that of 
the legitimate Arab wife, or Mauresque, even 
though her spouse be wealthy. 

The Mauresque partner de convenance of a 
wealthy wmdigéne or Kuropean may have her 
own horses and carriages, perhaps by this time 
even her own automobile; and rolls off the kilo- 
metres in her daily promenades on the fine 
suburban roads of Algiers, in company with the 
haute société of the city, and the thronging 
American, Knglish and German tourists from 
Mustapha. She even dines at the cabarets of 
Saint EKugéne, Pointe Pescade or the Jardin 
d’Hssai, and no one does more than look 
askance at her. Algiers is very mondaine, and 
its morals as varied as its population. 

Even though the rikat dresses after the Eu- 
ropean mode, there is no mistaking her origin. 
Her great, snappy black eyes, livened and set 
off by dashes of koheul, are fine to look upon; 
and her figure, as she sits in her cabriolet or 
opera-box, 1s so well hidden that one does not 
realize its cumbersomeness. At home _ she 
wears the seraglio ‘‘ pantalon ’’ of the Arabian 
Nights, ankles bare and feet stuffed into ba- 
bouches —which an Indian or a _ plainsman 
would call moccasins, Over all is the r’lila, a 


Some Things That Matter 165 


sort of cloak of gold-embroidered, silken stuff, 
very light and wavy. It’s not so graceful as 
the kimona of the Japanese, but it’s far more 
picturesque and useful than the most ravishing 
tea-gown ever donned in Fifth Avenue or May- 
fair. 

The Mussulman calendar is simple, and, ex- 
cept in the nomenclature of its divisions, is not 
greatly different from our own. The Arab 
year has twelve lunar months, making in all 
three hundred and fifty-four or three hundred 
and fifty-five days. 








Moharem 30 days 
Safer 29 « 
Rbia el ouel 30 « 
Rbia el tani 29 «& 
Djoumad el ouela 30. « 
Djoumad et tania 20 me 
Rdjab alte 1G 
Chaban 29 « 
Ramdan 30 « 
Choual 29 «& 
Dzou el Kada 30. «& 
_ Dzon el Hadja 29 or 30 
354 or 355 
Seasons 
Spring El rbia 
Summer Ks Saif 
Autumn El Kherif 


Winter Ech Chta 


166 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 








The principal fétes of the Arab are those 
of the Mussulman religion, the same one ob- 
serves in Bombay, Constantinople and Cairo. 


Ras el 4m 1 Moharem (first day of year) 

El achoura 10 Moharem (anniversary of the death 
of the son of Sidi Ali bou Thaleb) 

El Mouloud 12 Rbia el ouel (anniversary of the 
birth of the Prophet) 

Ciam ' 1 Ramdan 


Aid es srir 
(or little Beiram) 1 Choual 
Aid el kbir 
(or great Beiram) 10 Dzouel haja (in commemoration of 
sacrifice of Abraham) 


The following glossary of commonly met 
with Arab words is curious and useful: — 


Allah Dieu — God 

Bab Porte or passage, gateway (as Bab 
Souika at Tunis) 

Burnous A woollen cloak 

Cadi A judge or notary 

Caid Sheik, chief 

Calif or Khalif Chief, commander 

Cheikh (Sheik) Chief of a community or douar 

Coran (Koran) The Book of Islam 

Couscous or Couscoussu (Kouskouss) 

Derviche (Dervish) A member of a certain sect 
of religious dancers 

Divan The council-chamber of a Sultan or 
Bey 


Djebel Mountain 


Some Things That Matter 167 








Djinn 
Dof 
Douar 
Effendi 
Fakir 
Fellah 


Ganoun (or Kanoun) 


Goule 
Goum 
Gourbi 
Hadji 
Hammam 
Harem 


Henne 
Houri 
Imam 
Islam 
Kabyles 


Khalifa 
Kheloua 
Kouba 
Lella 
Marabout 


Mehari 
Moghreb 
Moghrabin 
Mosque 


Narghileh 
Ouali 
Oukil 


Evil spirits, demon 

A square drum 

Group of tents, a community 

Title of quality 

A mendicant monk 

Egyptian peasant 

Harp of 75 strings (seen at Alexandria 
and Tunis) 

Vampire 

Native soldiery from the South 

Hut or cabin 

Pilgrim who has been to Mecca 

Moorish or Turkish baths 

The place reserved for Mussulman 
women 

Henna for staining hair or body 

Celestial Virgin of Paradise 

The prayer leader 

The religion of the Prophet 

Berber mountaineers between Algiers 
and Tunis 

Chief of a religious community 

Cave, grotto 

Chapel above the tomb of a saint 

Madame 

A holy person or his tomb (mark the 
distinction; one word for two en- 
tities) 

A “high speed” dromedary 

Occident 

Man of the Occident 

Mussulman place of worship (in 
French Mosquée) 

Arab or Turkish pipe 

Marabout 

Guardian 


168 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





Raia 

Rais 

Roumi 

Scheriff (or Cheriff) 
Sidi 

Simoun (Sirocco) 
Spahi 

Sultan 

Sultani 

Tarr or Tar 
Teboul 

Zaouia 

Zerma 


Flag 

Captain 

Christians 

Descendants of the Prophet 
Monsieur, sir 

The South wind of the Sahara 
Native warrior horseman 
Virtually King or Emperor 
Gold money 

Tabor drum 

Tambourine 

Hermitage, chapel, school 
Clarionet 


CHAPTER X 


‘6 THE ARAB SHOD WITH FIRE ”’ 
(Horses, Donkeys, and Mules) 


As a Kentucky colonel once said, the pure- 
bred Arabian horse is a fine thing in his native 
land; but there is more good horse-flesh, per 
head of population, in the United States than 
the first home of the ancestor of the blooded 
horse ever possessed. Everything points to the 
fact that the gentleman knew what he was talk- 
ing about, as fine specimens of Arabian horse- 
flesh are rare to-day, even in Arabia and North 
Africa. They exist, of course, but the majority 
of horses one sees in Algeria and Tunisia are 
sorry-looking hacks. 

In the desert the case is somewhat different. 
There the beautiful Arabian horses of which 
romance and history tell are more numerous 
than the diminutive bronchos of the coast 
plains and mountains. The descendants of the 
Anazeh mares, the parent branch of royal Ara- 
bian blood, are not many; but an Arab of good 
lineage may still be had by one who knows how 

169 


170 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


to pick him out, or gets some friendly Sheik to 
give him his. 

No one seems to know where the original 
Arabian horse was bred, though it was known 
in the Mauritania of the Romans, in the envi- 
rons of Carthage, long before that little affair 
of Romulus and Remus startled an astonished 
world. In all probability he was a descendant 
of the same horses which made up the Numid- 
ian cavalry which overran Rome during the 
Punic wars, and that’s a pretty ancient pedi- 
gree. 

To-day all through North Africa, in Morocco, 
Algeria, Tunisia, Tripoli, Egypt, and in Ara- 
bia across the Red Sea, the type is recognizable 
in all variations of purity and debasement. 

The ‘‘ Arab shod with fire ’’ of the Bedouin 
love-song may not be all that sentiment has 
pictured, but he is an exceedingly high-bred 
animal nevertheless. 

Here are his fine points : — 


Four The forehead 
Th i 
«“ Wide ” e portrail (chest) 


Point Loins 
Shen Membres (shoulders) 


( Encolure (neck) 


, J Rayons supérieurs (upper fore and hind leg) 
“ Long Body 


Fonts e Hind quarter 


Four 


“The Arab Shod with Fire” 171 


Reins (flank) 


Four Paturons (pasterns) 


«“ Short ” 
Points Tail 


Coat brilliant and dark coloured 


This is the formule upon which the French 
remount officers choose their Arabian horses, 
and for hard work they take always a “ trai- 
neur avec sa queueé,’’ a horse of seven years or 
more. 

Each chief of an Arab family possesses one 
or more of the blooded Arabians of classic re- 
nown. It is his friend in joy and sorrow, and 
his constant companion when he is away from 
his family. If the Arab chief has many horses 
he always keeps one, the favourite, as a war- 
charger. If there are no wars or rumours of 
war in sight, he only rides this favourite on 
gala or parade occasions; but at all times he 
gives it more care and attention than many 
heads of families, in more conventionally civi- 
lized lands, give their wives. The Arab knows 
the ancestors of his horse as well as he knows 
his own; and he has its pedigree writ on parch- 
ment, which is more trouble than he has taken 
to perpetuate the memory of his own remote 
parents. The Algerian Arab horse has been 
called a ‘‘ mixed-pur sang,’’ whatever that may 


172 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


mean, but certainly it will take somebody more 
expert than a mere ‘‘ horsey ’’ person (the kind 
that go around talking about their ‘‘ mounts ”’ 
and how ‘‘ fit and saucy ’’? was the one they 
rode that morning) to mark the distinction be- 
tween the best of the Algerian variety and 
those of Egypt, Syria or Arabia. 

The Arab trains his horses for his own per- 
sonal use, to pace, canter, or gallop, never to 
trot, a gait which is only fit for the European 
who is afraid to sit on, or behind, a horse with 
a quick-moving pace. This is the Arab version 
of it, and an Arab horse owner will hobble his 
beast with a rope if he shows the least inclina- 
tion to trot or single foot. If this won’t break 
him, why he sells him to some one who will 
stand for it — at the best price he can get. The 
Arab horse owner thinks with the late A. T. 
Stewart: ‘‘If you have got a loss to meet, 
meet it at once and get your capital working 
on something else.”’ 

The writer recently met an Italian trying 
to bargain with an Arab for a saddle-horse. 
The Arab was with difficulty convinced that 
the gentleman was not an Englishman who 
would buy only a ‘‘ trotting. saddle-horse.’’ 
Quel horreur! ‘ Allah be praised! ’’ said Ali- 
something-or-other, the trader, all Europeans 





Bene 
i 


An Arab and His Horse in Gala Aitire 











‘¢The Arab Shod with Fire’’ 173 


are not imitators of the English taste in saddle- 
horses. Once in awhile an Italian or a Span- 
iard or a Frenchman wants a horse for a car- 
-rousel and not for an amble in the Bois, which 
is his idea of doing as they do in London. 

The reputation of the blooded Arabian horse, 
whether it is found in Arabia, Algeria or Mo- 
rocco, is classic, and the mule, too, seems here 
to take on qualities not its birthright elsewhere. 
With the donkey, the petit dne with a cross 
down its back and a silver museau, the same 
thing holds good. North Africa is the donkey’s 
paradise. Here, if he finds herbage scant once 
and again, he thrives as nowhere else, and at- 
tains often an age of thirty-five years. The 
donkey in Africa is worked hard, but is neither 
unduly maltreated nor misunderstood. Per- 
haps that is why he lives long, though if the 
present race of donkey boys, who have been 
trained at the Paris and Chicago exhibitions, 
go on their unruly ways now they have got back 
to their homes at Cairo, Tunis or Algiers, even 
the patient, sad little donkeys may take on 
moods that hitherto they have never known. 

The horses and donkeys of the big towns 
may well become spoiled by vanity, for they 
are often the subjects of an assiduous and in- 
explicable care on the parts of their owners, 


174 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


who comb their locks, and braid them, and cos- 
métique them and put rouge on their fore- 
heads, and even stain them with henna until 
they are a regular ‘‘ Zaza ’’ tint. Darkest Af- 
rica is not so backward as one might think! 

'. All classes of native riders, whether on the 
camel, mehari, horse, mule, or donkey, beat the 
ribs of the creature with a heel-tap tattoo in 
what must be an annoying manner for the 
beast. From the way the native, rich or poor, 
sits on his horse, spurs would be of no use to 
him, and only the Spahi, or native cavalry, has 
adopted them. 

Donkey riding is the same dubious rocheting 
proceeding in all Mediterranean countries. It 
is no worse here than in Greece or on the Rivi- 
era. ‘‘ The donkey’s a disgrace,’’ says the 
Arab; and he runs along behind, beating his 
onery little beast and calling it a fille de chacal, 
a graine de calamité or a chienne. This need 
awaken no sentiments of pity whatever — for 
the donkey. They are as much terms of en- 
dearment as the occasion calls for. The most 
common four-footed beast of burden in Algeria 
is undoubtedly the despised donkey of tradi- 
tion. Every one does seem to despise the 
donkey, except the Mexican ‘‘ greaser,’’ who 
asks as affectionately after his neighbour’s 


‘‘The Arab Shod with Fire’’ 175 


burro as he does his wife or children. Here 
the bourriquet or h’mar is quite a secondary 
consideration in the Arab’s domestic entou- 
rage. 

The bourriquet is an economical little beast, 
costing only from ten frances upward. He usu- 
ally feeds himself, browsing as he goes, and 
trots twenty or thirty kilometres a day, en- 
couraged by the whacks and expletives of his 
driver who may often be found perched on top 
of the donkey’s load of a hundred and fifty 
pounds or more. 

To us it all savours of cruelty, and perhaps 
some real cruelty does take place; but much of 
the ‘‘ coaxing ’’ of a donkey into his gait is 
necessary, unless one is disposed to let him 
stand still for hours at a time, too lazy to do 
anything but swish and kick the flies away. 
AKisop’s ass prayed to Jove for a less cruel 
master, but that deity replied that he could not 
change human nature nor that of donkeys, so 
things were left to stand as before. 

The Arabs often sht the nostrils of their 
donkeys, on the supposition that the Maker did 
not fashion them amply enough to allow them 
to breathe readily. The more readily the 
donkey breathes, the more capable he is to 
earry heavy burdens long distances. Logical, 


176 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


this! And the procedure, too, improves the 
tonal quality of the donkey’s bray. Well, per- 
haps, though most of us are not devotees of 
that sort of music. Compared to Italy or 
Spain, there are considerably fewer suffering 
sore-backed donkeys in Algeria or Tunisia. 

There is no question but that for economical 
service the donkey will kill any horse or mule; 
and it is clear that, weight for weight and load 
for load, he daily outdoes the camel. The lat- 
ter, weighing fifteen hundred pounds, carries 
perhaps a weight of three to five hundred. The 
ass weighs two hundred and fifty to four hun- 
dred pounds, and, carrying one hundred and 
fifty to two hundred, outpaces the camel by a 
mile an hour. | 

The donkey is guided by the voice, a stick, 
or a rope halter, which lies on the left side, and 
is pulled to turn him to the left, or borne across 
his neck to turn him to the right. The stick 
serves the double purpose of striking and guid- 
ing, and the stick must needs come into play 
only too often. 

The donkey here in the Mediterranean coun- 
tries is often very small, not thirty-two inches 
in many cases, no bigger than a St. Bernard. 
When one hires a donkey to carry him over an 


‘‘The Arab Shod with Fire’’ 177 


étape on some mountain road, it is often a 
beast from whose back one’s toes touch the 
ground, though one is seated on a pad, not a 
saddle, and measures only five feet seven. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE SHIP OF THE DESERT AND HIS OCEAN OF SAND 


A CAMEL may be a cumbersome, ungainly and 
unlovely creature, and may be destined to be 
succeeded by the automobile, to which he seems 
to have taken a violent dislike; but there is 
no underrating the great and valuable part 
which he has played in the development of the 
African provinces and protectorates of France. 
He has borne most of their burdens, literally; 
has ploughed their fields, pumped their water, 
and even exploited the tourists, to say nothing 
of having been the companion of the Mussul- 
man faithful on their pilgrimages. 

The camel caravans which set out across the 
desert from Tlemcen, Tunis, and Constantine 
(there are no camels nearer Algiers than Arba) 
are in charge of a very exalted personage, — 
or he thinks he is. His official title is gellaby. 
Each and every beast of burden is loaded to 
the limit, and pads his way with his great nub- 
bly hoofs across untold leagues of sand or 

178 


The Ship of the Desert 179 


brush-covered soil without complaint. At 
every stop, however, and every time a start is 
made, he always gives vent to shrieks and 
groans; but as this procedure takes place at 
each end of a day’s journey as well, it is prob- 
ably pure bluff, as the camel-sheik claims. To 
one unused to it the noise seems like the wails 
which are supposed to come up out of the in- 
ferno. 

The camel of Africa, so-called, is really not 
a camel, he is a dromedary; the camel] has two 
humps, the dromedary but one, but camel is the 
word commonly used. The two-humped quad- 
ruped, then, is a camel, — the direct descendant 
of the camel of Asia, whilst that of the single 
hump is the dromedary of Africa. The dis- 
tinction must be remembered by all who talk 
or write on the subject, with the same precision 
that one differentiates between African and In- 
dian elephants. 

The camel has by no means the rude health 
and strength which has so often been attributed 
to him, indeed he is a very delicate beast an1 
demands a climate dry and hot. Cold and snow 
and persistent rains are death to a camel. A 
camel must be well nourished, and with a cer- 
tain regularity, or he soon becomes ill and dies. 
He is easily frightened and can spread a panic 


180 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


among his fellows with the rapidity of wild- 
fire. 

For the most part the camel is kindly and 
temperate, but he can get in a rage and can be 
very dangerous to all who approach him on 
foot. 

The camel of the south cannot live in the 
north and vice versa. They are not acclimated 
to the varying conditions. One judges a good 
camel (dromedary) by his hump; firm and hard, 
it is a sure sign of a good-natured, hard-work- 
ing, friendly sort of a camel; if flabby and 
mangy, then beware. 

A camel eats normally thirty or forty kilos 
of fodder a day, and must be allowed four 
hours to do it in. As to drink, once in two or 
three days in summer is enough, but in winter 
he can go perhaps ten days, and his food bill 
is increased nothing thereby. 

He can carry 150-160 kilos, a parcel hung 
over each side in saddle-bag fashion. The me- 
hari, or long-distance, fast-gaited camel of the 
Sahara, is to the ordinary dromedary what a 
blooded Arabian is to a Percheron. He can 
better stand hunger and thirst, and on an av- 
erage needs drink only once in five days; fur- 
thermore is not as liable to fright as is the 
djemel, as the Arab calls the camel, and is more 





j the Desert 


tO 


The Mehar 





The Ship of the Desert 181 


patient and more courageous. Less rapid than 
a race-horse for short distances, the mehari, 
well-trained and well-driven, can make his hun- 
dred kilometres a day, day in and day out. 

The saddle is called a rahala and has a con- 
cave seat, a large, high back, and an elevated 
pommel. The rider sits in the bowl-like saddle, 
his legs crossed on the beast’s neck. The me- 
hart is driven through a ring in its nose, to 
which is attached a rope of camel’s hair. The 
beast 1s somewhat difficult to drive, more so 
than the djemel, and only its master can get 
good results. To mount, the beast kneels as do 
ordinary camels. 

En route the mehari does not graze, but waits 
for a decent interval and takes its meal com- 
fortably. A mehari, not accustomed to the 
sight of a horse, is often put into a terrible 
fright thereby. The education of a mehari is 
very difficult; it takes a year to break one. 

The policing of the great Saharan tracts 
would not be possible without troops mounted 
on mehara,—the plural of the word mehari, 
—and France owes much of the development 
of her African provinces to the mehari and the 
slower-going camel. 

The dromedary, or camel, as it is referred 
to in common speech, was an importation into 


182 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Algeria. away back in some unrecalled epoch, 
at any rate anterior to the Arab invasion of 
the eleventh century. 

The mehari was a warlike beast as far back 
into antiquity as the days of Herodotus, Taci- 
tus, and Pliny. Herodotus, recounting the bat- 
tle of Sardes, said, according to Pliny: ‘‘ Ca- 
melos iter gumeuta pascit Oriens, quorum duo 
genera Bactriant et Arabict... .”’ 

If an Arab is owner of a thousand camels, 
he wards off any evil that may befall them by 
leading out the oldest and blinding it with a 
rod of white hot iron. 

A camel that has fallen ill may be cured, 
many superstitious Arabs believe, by allowing 
it to witness the operation of searing the hoofs 
of another, tied and thrown upon the ground. 
This is auto-suggestion surely, though where 
the curative powers come in it is hard to see. 

When a bayra, a female camel, has given 
birth to five camels, the last being a male, her 
ears are bored and she is sent out to pasture, 
never more to be put to the rough work of cara- 
vaning. Like putting an old horse to pasture 
in perpetuity, it seems a humane act, and it 
solves the race question in the camel world, or 
would if the camels only knew the why and the 
wherefore, 


The Ship of the Desert 183 


The camel’s feet are admirably made for the 
sands of the desert; they form by nature a sort 
of adapted ski or snow-shoe. The hoof (though 
really it is no hoof) is bifurcated and has no 
horny substance, merely a short, crooked claw, 
or nail, at the rear of each bifurcation, a sort 
of elastic sole—the predecessor of rubber 
heels, no doubt—covering the base. The 
camel travels well in sand, but with difficulty 
over stony ground, where frequently the Arabs 
envelop his feet with cloths or leather wrap- 
pings. 

The camel possesses further four other cal- 
losities, one on each knee, and he uses them all 
four every time he gets up or lies down. These 
callous places are something the beast is born 
with; they get ragged and mangy-looking with 
time, but they are there from birth. 

The boss, or hump, of the camel-dromedary 
is mere gristle; it contains no bone, and is 
more or less abundant according to the health 
of the animal. 

A well-fed and happy camel, starting out on 
a long march, regards his well-rounded hump 
with pride. Excessive travel and _ forced 
marches diminish its shape and size and the 
beast seemingly becomes ashamed and literally 
feels sore about it. But, like the conquered 


184 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


general on a battle-field who loses his sword, 
he ultimately gets it all back again, and a little 
rest, a change of diet, and a good, long drink 
—‘‘a camel’s neck,’’ you might call it— 
makes a difference with the camel and his hump 
in the course of a very few days. 

A camel gets unruly and cries out at times, 
and often becomes unmanageable, but an appli- 
eation of a sticky gob of tar or pitch on his 
forehead usually quiets him down. 

The baby camels usually come into the world 
one at a time; and can stand up on their four 
legs the first day, and run around like their 
elders at the end of a week. 

At the age of four years the young camel is 
put to work, and carries a rider, two barrels 
of wine or two gunny-sacks filled with crock- 
ery or ironware indiscriminately. His average 
life is twenty years, and, as with the horse, one 
reckons his age by his teeth. 

The Arab gets an astonishing amount of 
work out of an apparently unwilling camel. He 
encourages him with punches, and beatings and 
oaths and songs. Yes, the Arab camel-driver 
even sings to his camel to induce him to get 
along faster, and plays a screechy air on the 
galoubet; and the curious thing is that the 
flagging energies of a camel will revive immedi- 


The Ship of the Desert 185 


ately his driver begins to drone. It is a custom 
which has come down from antiquity, and soon 
one may expect every caravan to carry its own 
phonograph and megaphone. 

The chief of these airs, rendered into French 
for us by a lisping, blue-eyed Arab, was, as 
near as may be: — 


“ Battez pour nous, 
Battez pour nous, 
O Chameaux! 
Battez pour nous, 
Battez pour nous, 
Chameaux, pour vos maitres! ” 


_ No very great rhyme or rhythm there, but 
if suits the camel’s taste in poesy. 

To ‘‘ vagabond’’ with a camel caravan 
would be the very ideal of a simple life. The 
life of a caravan to-day is as it was in Bible 
times, except that one carries a ‘‘ Smith and 
Wesson ”’ or a “‘ Colt ’’ instead of a spear. 

The following essential facts apply to all the 
camel caravans making their respective ways 
from the coast towns of the northern provinces 
down into the Soudan and the Sahara. The 
caravan usually makes its day’s journey be- 
tween wells, or at least plans to stop at a source 
of water at night rather than push on; this 
in case one has not been previously passed by, 


186 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


and every one become refreshed a short time 
before. 

A dozen to thirty kilometres or so a day 
is the average commercial caravan journey, — 
for a part of the outfit walks, it must be re- 
membered, — and an eight or ten weeks’ itin- 
erary is the duration of the average journey. 
Such food as is carried is generally of pounded 
dates and figs in the form of.a paste, which the 
dry climate more or less petrifies. 

The Arab trader, the chief of the trading 
caravan, and the city merchant en voyage, be 
he Arab, Turk, or Jew, is a man of position, 
the others are mere helpers, emo v a or per- 
haps slaves. 

At each important halting-place of a caravan 
the Sheik’s great tent is unstrapped from its 
camel bearer and set up on a pied de terre in 
as likely a spot as may be found. The Arab 
tent is no haphazard shack or shelter; it is a 
thing of convention, and has its shape and size 
laid down by tradition. 

The great central post or pillar has a height 
of two and a half metres, and the perches, or 
entrance posts, have a height of two metres, 
and a considerable inclination, whereas the 
central one is perpendicular. 

The tent proper, the covering, is invariably of ~ 





UDAUDADD Jdasagr VY 











The Ship of the Desert 187 


alternate black and brown or brown and white 
woollen bands, sewn together with a_ stout 
thread of camel’s-hair. These bands are called 
felidj and have a width usually of seventy-five 
centimetres. 

Within there is no furniture properly called, 
simply the provision for a nomad life, sacks of 
grain, dates, figs or olives, a few pots and pans, 
harness, ete., and a few smaller sacks or bags, 
cachettes, where the womenfolk hide their ear- 
rings, corals, and brooches. These last are 
usually used as pillows at night. It is a law 
of somebody — perhaps the Prophet — that 
none of the Arabs’ tent accessories must be 
of wood or iron, save the tent poles, which are 
of both, being made of wood and shod with 
iron; thus all utensils and other furnishings 
are of skins or mats, and dishes of woven grass, 
and all cords are of spun camel’s-hair. A few 
copper pots and pans there are of necessity, 
and a few rude crockery bowls. 

The desert caravans form to-day the same 
classic pictures as of yore as they thread the 
trails and paths, obscure and involved enough 
to the stranger, but plain sailing to the chief 
or guide of a caravan who precedes the follow- 
ing ‘‘ squadrons ’’ as a Malay pilot precedes 
his ship. 


188 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





« At the head of his dusty caravan, 
Laden with treasures from realms afar. 


Through the clouds of dust by the caravan raised 
Came the flash of harness and jewelled sheath.’ 


The chief of a tribe, or even a caravan, is a 
very grand personage among his fellows, and 
when he is en route rides apart and sleeps in 
a palanquin or attouch, an attouch being no 
other thing than a cabin ona ship; here a cabin 
on the ship of the desert. 

The attouch, to be a la mode, must have a 
tall, chimney-like ventilator rising in the middle 
and tipped with ostrich plumes. Generally 
this retreat is large enough to shelter two per- 
sons, —always persons of importance in an 
ostrich-feather-tipped attouch, a sheik and his 
favourite wife, for example. 

The caravans of to-day vary in size from a 
dozen to fifty camels to a train of four, five, or 
seven hundred (in Tripoli). Under certain 
conditions, after a long journey, the camel car- 
riers — the freighters — are usually allowed to 
rest a matter of days, weeks, or even months, 
according to the lack of necessitous conditions 
for pushing on and for recuperation. One of 
the chief trading towns of the Tripoli caravans 
to-day in Africa is Kano, a place ruled by a 


The Ship of the Desert 189 


native chief and inhabited by a black popula- 
tion. The chief, for a consideration, affords 
shelter and protection, and the Arabs of the 
caravan open up shop and do business in the 
real county-fair style that they knew before 
county fairs were even thought of. Native 
products are bought or traded for in return, 
and such currency as passes is a sort of wam- 
pum made of shells and a few Maria Theresa 
dollars. Barter, or mere swapping, with a 
bonus on one side or the other, is the usual 
caravan Arabs’ idea of merchandizing, and the 
European can as often get a native-made wool- 
len burnous or a camel’s-hair blanket by the 
exchange of a ‘‘ dollar watch ’’ or a ‘‘ Seth 
Thomas clock,’’ as he can by giving up two or 
three gold lows. 

The proper benediction to cast down on the 
head of any Sheik who may have shown you a 
courtesy en route is to say in simple ['rench: 
— ‘* Merci, noble Sheik, de ta générosité. Que 
la bénédiction d’ Allah descende sur tov, sur tes 
femmes, tes enfants, tes troupeaua et ta tribu.’’ 
If you can give him a slab of milk chocolate 
or a piece of ‘‘ pepsin ’’ chewing gum, he will 
appreciate that, too. 

The negroes and negresses accompanying the 
caravans walk, but the Arab either rides camel- 


190 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


back or horseback, like the veritable king of 
his own little kingdom, which, virtually, every 
Arab is when he is on the open plain. 

The Touaregs, south of Touggourt, one of 
the real, genuine, Simon-pure tribes of desert 
Arabs, are not given to the trafficking and mer- 
chandizing of those who live down on the coast. 
Their chief, and in many cases, sole occupation 
consists in catering for the migratory caravan 
outfits, selling them dates and mutton and 
water, for if a Touareg can discover anywhere 
an unworked oasis with a spring, he has got 
something which to him is very nearly as good 
as a gold mine. 

Among the Touaregs there are blacks and 
whites; the whites dress lke the conventional 
Arabs, but the blacks after a fashion more like 
that of the savage blacks further south. The 
three superimposed blouses are never too great 
a weight or thickness for the genuine Arab, 
even in the blazing furnace of the Sahara. 
They ward off heat and cold alike. 

One of Napoleon’s famous sayings, forgotten 
almost in favour of others still more famous, 
was: ‘‘ Of all obstacles which oppose an army 
on the march, the greatest, the most auheult to 
remove, is the desert.’’ 

One imagines the desert as a great, flat, 


The Ship of the Desert 191 





ee eS RR SO re ERE EE TORR Cer ne cone 





sandy plain with illimitable horizons, like the 
flat bed of a dried-out ocean. This is a mis- 
eonception of our youth, brought about by too 
diligent an application to the precepts of the 


— 


bbb Po td OTT PORLEVLE CL 





THE ILLIMI( TABLE. 
DESERT 
wishel erase 


copy-book and the school geography. All 
things are possible in the vrai désert. The 
oasis is not the only interpolation in the monot- 
onous landscape. There are great chotts or 
marsh tracts, even depressions where a murky 
alkaline water, unfit for man or beast, is always 
to be found, vast stretches of rocky plateau, 


192 In the Land of Mosques and Minarcts 


great dunes of sand and even jutting peaks of 
bare and wind-swept rock, with surfaces as 
smooth as if washed by the waves of the ocean. 
These are the common desert characteristics 
throughout the Sahara, from the Gulf of Gabés 
to the Moroccan frontier and beyond. Occa- 
sionally there are the palpable evidences of 
new-made voleanic soil, and even granite and 
sandstone eminences half buried in some en- 
gulfing wave of sand swept up by the last si- 
rocco that passed that way. 

Over all, however, is an evident and almost 
impenetrable haze. At a certain moment of 
one’s progress in the desert, he sees nothing of 
distinction before or behind or right or left, 
and at the next finds himself close to a pyramid 
of rock fifty feet high. Really the desert is 
very bewildering and enigmatic, and the Arab 
who navigates it with his caravan is like the 
sailor on the deep sea. He has to take his 
bearings every once and again or he is lost and 
perhaps engulfed. 

It is the fashion to write and speak of the 
mystery of the desert, but in truth there is no 
mystery about it, albeit its moods are varied 
and inexplicable at times. To the solitary trav- 
eller there is an interest in the desert unknown 
to seas, or mountains, or even to rolling prai- 





The Sand Dunes oj the Desert 


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The Ship of the Desert 193 


ries. Above is a sky of stainless beauty, and 
the splendour of a pitiless, blinding glare; the 
siroceco caresses you lke a lion with flaming 
breath; all round lie drifted sand-heaps, where 
the wind leaves its trace in solid waves. 
Flayed rocks are here, skeletons of mountains, 
and hard, unbroken, sun-dried plains, over 
which he who rides is spurred by the idea that 
the bursting of a water-skin, or the pricking 
of a camel’s hoof, would be a certain lingering 
death of torture. The springs seem to ery the 
warning words, ‘‘ Drink and away!’’ There 
is nothing mysterious or dull about such a land, 
indeed it is very real and exciting, and man 
has as much opportunity here as anywhere of 
measuring his forces with Nature’s, and of 
emerging, if possible, triumphant from the 
trial. This explains the Arab’s proverb: 
‘¢ Voyaging is victory.’’ In the desert, even 
more than upon the ocean, there is present . 
death; hardship is there, and piracy, and ship- 
wreck. 

Newcomers to Algeria and Tunisia talk of 
the monotonous calm of the sand dunes of the 
desert; but those who know its silences best 
find nothing monotonous about them. It is as” 
the automobilist expresses it with regard to the 
great tree-lined ‘‘ Routes Nationales’’ of 


194 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


France — ‘‘ there 1s sameness, but not monot- 
ony.’’ One does not become ennuied in the 
desert. He may be alone within a circle of 
many miles radius, but each glint and glimmer 
of sunlight, each leaping gazelle and Saharan 
hare — really a jack-rabbit — keeps him com- 
pany, and when a camel caravan or a patrol 
of Spahis rises on the horizon, he feels as 
‘‘ crowded ’’ as he would in a ‘“‘ bridge crush ”’ 
in New York, or on the Boulevard des Italiens 
on a féte-day. 

Here at one side is a shepherd’s striped 
tent, surrounded by bleating sheep and goats 
and tended by a lean, lonesome Arab who is 
apparently bored stiff with lonesomeness. His 
is a lonesome life indeed, like that of a shep- 
herd anywhere, and when night comes — often 
drear and chill even in the Sahara —he slips 
under his tent flap, pulls his burnous up around 
his ears and trusts to luck that no jackal will 
make away with a kid or lamb while he sleeps. 
He is not paid to sleep by the owner of the 
flock (a frane and a quarter a day, out of which 
he feeds himself), but still, sleep he must. Fa- 
tigue comes even to a lazy Arab sheep-herder, 
and he’d rather fall sound asleep beside a bra- 
zier inside his tent than doze intermittently be- 
fore a fire of brushwood in the open. Who 


The Ship of the Desert 195 


would not, at a frane and a quarter a day; par- 
ticularly as the day includes the night! There 
is no eight-hour day in the desert. 

Before he sleeps, he munches a “ pain 
Arab ’”’ and pulls his matowi from his belt, from 
which he fills his pipe with k7f and soon smokes 
himself into insensibility. Poor sheep and 
goats, what may not happen to them whilst 
their guardian is in his paradise of burnt hemp! 

In the little oasis settlements where there are 
natural springs, and not at the Bordjs or gov- 
ernment posts of relays, one’s sight is glad- 
dened with flowering fig and almond blooms or 
fruits and bizarre spiny cacti with pink laurel 
and palms in all the subtropical profusion of 
a happy sunlight land. The chief characteris- 
tics of an oasis are the superb giant palm-trees, 
their aigrettes reaching skywards almost to in- 
tinity, the azure blue cut into fantastic, fairy 
shapes, which no artist can paint and no kodak- 
ist snap in all their fleeting grace. 

Here dwell a few score of sheep, goat, horse, 
or camel owning Arabs, who mysteriously live 
off of nothing at all, except when they sell a kid 
or a baby camel to a passing caravan. It is 
the simple life with a vengeance! And the chil- 
dren play about in the shadow of the tents 
naked as worms, and, as they grow up, marry, 


196 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


and adopt by instinct the same idle life. They 
know no ideas of progress, and perhaps are the 
happier for it. 

The colour effects in the desert are things to 
make an artist rave. The dunes change colour 
with each hour of the day, and the silver light 
of the sunrise and the streaky blood-red and 
orange of the sunsets are marvels to be seen 
nowhere else on earth. 

The temperature in the desert frequently 
changes with a suddenness that would be re- 
marked in Paris, the place par excellence in 
Kurope where the changes in temperature are 
most trying; or in Marseilles, where, from a 
subtropical summer sun, one can be trans- 
planted on the breath of the mistral into the 
midst of an Alpine winter in the twinkling of 
an eye. Fifty degrees centigrade at high noon 
in the desert may be followed by ten degrees 
at midnight. That’s a change of seventy-two 
degrees Fahrenheit, and that’s something. 


CHAPTER XII 


SOLDIERS SAVAGE AND CIVILIZED — LEGIONNAIRES 
AND SPAHIS 


Auceria is guarded by an army of 60,000 
men. But they keep the peace only, for there 
is no warfare in Algeria or Tunisia to-day. In 
the days of the Roman legions less than half 
that number of men fought for and held all 
North Africa. France recognizes that the de- 
velopment of a new country depends more upon 
the military than all else. The Spahis, the 
Chasseurs d’Afrique, and the Légionnares 
have won most of France’s battles in Algeria; 
and for this reason these great colonial corps 
are given a high place in the military estab- 
lishment. 

When they have fought they have fought 
well, and when they have died they have died 
gloriously. The last ‘‘ little affair ’’ was in 
1903, when a hundred Spahis and horsemen of 
the Legion were attacked at Kl-Moungar, near 
the Moroccan frontier. They fought like lions 

197 


198 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


until reinforcements arrived, and but thirty 
odd remained alive. Among the Légionnaires 
who died were a Spanish captain and a Ger- 
man lheutenant, for the Légion Etrangére de- 
mands nothing of any who would enlist in 
its ranks but his name and an affirmative to the 
question — ‘‘ Will you fight? ’’ The survivors 
of this engagement all received the Médaille 
Coloniale and the Saharan Clasp. 

Now a more important.move in the military 
game is being played across the frontier in 
Morocco itself, and 12,000 of Algeria’s native 
soldiery is cast for the chief role. The soldiers 
of the Foreign Legion are of all nationalities 
under the sun. Some of them are scoundrels, 
no doubt, or were until military discipline made 
them brace up, but others are as refined as the 
gentleman and officer of convention. 

We met many Italians, Swiss, Germans, and 
Irishmen, and the Germans were not Alsatians, 
either, but real Platt-deutsch, from Bremen. 
In more than one instance they had been 
drummed out of their own regiment for some 
disgrace and enlisted anew in France’s Légion 
Etrangére that they might begin life over 
again. The real soldier of fortune exists no- 
where in so large a proportion as in this corps. 

Certain of the French troops in Africa are 


Soldiers Savage and Civilized 199 


not usually the flower of the army, often they 
are disciplinaires sent out from home. At any 
rate when you see one of them robbing a poor 
peanut merchant who solicited him to buy dis 
nois poeur uné sous, you are quite ready to be- 
lieve he needs disciplining. The Arab under 
such circumstances gives the tou-tou a tongue- 
lashing, which for invective could hardly be 
equalled: ‘‘ Infamous belly of a snake,’’ “ Ca- 
naille,’’ ‘‘ Sale yondi, where is your polite- 
ness,’ “ Ouf, I'll ram another handful down 
your camel throat and charge you nothng, 
either — salop de cochon!’’ The Arab is fast 
becoming Frenchified, as the above will indi- 
cate. 

The next minute the seller of cacaoettes — 
which is a prettier name for peanuts than we 
have — turns to you calmly and says humbly: 
‘“ Pardon, Sidi, will you buy some nuts? ’’ 
And you buy them, ten sous worth, which is 
enough money in hand to keep him for twenty- 
four hours, just because he is so good an actor. 

The sixty odd thousand regular soldiery in 
Algeria are virtually military police and civil 
engineers. The Arab-Berber population are 
no more likely to revolt, though they did it 
successfully enough in 1871, when France 
thought she had them subdued; and so, as a 


200 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


sort of police precaution, France keeps a very 
active army on the spot. If a nation possesses 
a vast territory, it must be policed somehow, 
and this is the French idea of doing it, for in 
the above number are counted the gendarmerie 
or national police. 

One romantic character stands out plainly in 
the history of Algeria in these later years, and 
that is Yusuf, the name of the ideal native sol- 
dier who was a prodigious figure of the early 
nineteenth century. His personality was most 
strange. Bearer of an Arab name, he was the 
personification of a chivalrous military hero- 
ism consecrated to a country not his own; and 
France, contrary to her usual procedure, has 
seemingly neglected his fame and that of his 
descendants. 

It was to Yusuf, in effect, that was due the 
security of the environs of Algiers from the 
conquest of 1833 to the extinction of the revolt 
of 1871. From the first landing of General 
Bourmont, the deliverer of Algeria, Yusuf was 
employed in every possible capacity; and the 
ancient slave of the Turkish ruler and the fa- 
vourite of the Bey of Tunis became the symbol 
of law and progress. His sabre was henceforth 
to be used for Christianity, and not on behalf 
of paganism and rapine. Yusuf at the head of 


Soldiers Savage and Civilized 201 


his Spahis is a noble and imposing figure of 
the African portrait gallery. He is almost in- 
variably young, splendid of form and fastidi- 
ous and luxurious in his dress; a superb ro- 
mantic dream of the Orient, but adaptable and 
eapable of absorbing European ideas. 

Authors, artists, and princes have attempted 
to idealize Yusuf, but the task was futile. 
Louis-Philippe, Louis Bonaparte, Alexandre 
Dumas, Gautier, Horace Vernet, Delacroix, 
and Bugeaud have sung his praises afar; but 
he remains to-day the unspoiled, faithful serv- 
ant of a government and faith as foreign to 
his own as the red Indian is to the Parisian. 

Homage! Frenchmen and Algerians, and all 
others who know and love the land which smiles 
so bravely under the African sun, to Yusuf the 
warrior, the diplomat, and chien fidéle! 

The Spahis, or native soldiery, made up from 
the Yusufs of all Algeria, are in great repute 
with their European officers, whatever the bu- 
reaucrats of the Boulevard Saint Germain may 
think. To the former he has: 

«“ La main toujours ouverte, 


Le sabre toujours tiré, 
Une seule parole,” 


and he is obedient to his superiors. This is a 
good formula upon which to mould a soldier. 


202 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


The Spahis and Tureos of Algeria fought 
for France, too, on the mainland, in that un- 
happy and unnecessary ‘‘ woman’s war ”’ with 
Germany in 1871. The Germans protested 
against the employment of these ‘‘ savages; ’’ 
but the precept was England’s when she en- 
listed the red man against the North American 
eolonist in 1776, and then, too, she hired Hes- 
sians for the job (who were Germans) and ac- 
cording to the traditionary tales concerning 
those mercenaries, they came about as near 
being ‘‘ savages’’ as anything which ever 
walked on two feet. 

The ‘‘ Chanson du Spahi ’’ is a classic in the 
land. It recounts in duleet French phrase the 
whole life of one of these noble native soldiery 
enlisted in the ranks of the French army organ- 
ization. 

It is a veritable Odyssey, commencing 
with : — 

“ J’étais jeune, le cadet dans la tente de mon pére. 
Le cadet de ses fils beaux comme des lions,” 


and ending with: — 
« Qui pleurera sur la tombe du soldat orphelin.” 


The Spahi’s costume is fearfully and won- 
derfully made. It is gorgeous beyond that of 








Soldiers Savage and Civilized 203 


any other soldiery; and yet it is most suitable 
for campaigning after the Spahi fashion. The 
waving burnous, the haik, the broidered vest, 
the turban wound with camel’s-hair, red boots, 
and much gold braid make the Spahi dazzling 
to behold. 

When it comes to the accoutrements of his 
horse the same thing is true. His saddle is a 
veritable seat, not a mere pad, and weighs ten 
times as much as a European saddle, his stir- 
rups alone weighing as much. Instead of a 
single blanket, the Spahi trooper has a half a 
dozen variegated saddle-cloths, very spectacu- 
lar, if not useful. 

The barracks of the native soldiers in Al- 
geria are bare, but with European fitments of 
iron bedsteads, ete. The religion of the Mus- 
sulman does not demand, nor indeed permit 
pictures or images of his God; and so, any 
substitute for the ikons of the Russian, and the 
crucifixes of the French soldier are absent. 

In Algeria, besides the Spahis and the tirail- 
leurs, each so picturesque whenever grouped 
with the North African landscape, there is a 
special field force of men from the south, pure 
Arab types, men of the desert, and scouts of 
the very first rank. All these military types 
are what is defined as native voluntary sol- 


204 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 








diery, the indigéne not being subject to military 
conscription. Perhaps they are the better sol- 
diers for this, since they adopt it voluntarily 
as a profession, but a discussion of the subject 





SoLDIERY L 


B.MeMeee 19 OTe.) 


is not one of sufficient moment to take space 
here. 

Each tribe of the south — whose civil admin- 
istration, be it recalled, is in the hands of the 
native Sheik and the Cadi—djis bound to fur- 


Soldiers Savage and Civilized 205 


nish, at the need of the French government, 
whether for service within the limits of Algeria 
or out of it, a group of a certain proportionate 
size of able-bodied fighting men. These volun- 
tary fighters of the open country, known as 
goums, are versed in many of the wiles of war- 
fare of which the garrison-trained soldier is 
ignorant; and, upon a simple requisition, the 
chief of a tribe is bound to furnish his quota 
of these plainsmen. It is a duty owed to the 
French government for the protection and law- 
ful status which it gives each individual tribe 
and its members; and this soldiery is not only 
voluntary, but serves, without salary, drawing 
only munitions of war and nourishment from 
the public war-chest, and furnishing even its 
own horses and guns. 

The goum is a picturesque and original type 
of soldier. He rides a stocky Arabian horse, 
gaily caparisoned with a gaudy parti-coloured 
harness and saddle-cloth, and sits in a high- 
backed saddle, as if on a throne. His costume 
is fascinating, if crude, in the flowing lines of 
his burnous, his boots of bright red or yellow 
leather, and his great high-crowned straw hat, 
like no other form of head-gear on earth except 
the Mexican’s sombrero. He is proud of his 
occupation, and would rather fight than eat, at 


206 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


least one judges that this is the case in that 
he fights for France without pay. 

The goums are a sort of savage soldiery, if 
you like to think of them as such, but they are 
not guerillas. Their efficacy in various little 
wars has been tried and tried again; and, re- 
cently, in Morocco, the first successful raids 
into the open country of the fanatical Moroc- 
cans were only made possible by the lances of 
a column of goums which only the day before 
had landed at Casablanca from the steamer 
from Oran. Regular soldiery has to get accli- 
mated when fighting in a new and untried coun- 
try, but the goum of the Sud-Algerien got down 
to business immediately in Morocco and gave 
the French a firm grasp on things, whilst the 
regular troops, also imported from the plains 
of Algeria, were getting used to the mountains, 
and the garrison troops of Tizi-Ouzou were try- 
ing to adapt themselves to the mode of life 
necessary for good health in a seaport town. 
The ways of most War Departments in moving 
troops about from one strategic point to an- 
other have ever been erratic, and that of the 
French is no exception. The goum of Algeria 
saved the day for France in Algeria, and per- 
haps by the time these lines are printed will 





san Sete 


A Goum 


oT Ai 





Soldiers Savage and Civilized 207 





have added another gem to the colonial diadem 
of France. If not so soon, why later on. 

There is a current story in military circles 
in Algeria concerning the gift of an Arab chief 
to a French general commanding a division. 
It was not gold or jewels or goods of any kind, 
but a simple, secret admonition: ‘‘ Never trust 
an Arab — not even me.’’ With variations this 
may be true enough, but the average traveller 
among these now loyal French citizens will 
have no cause to regret any little confidences 
he may commit to a friendly Arab or Berber; 
though, of the two, the latter being certainly 
the more faithful. 

The railway, the telegraph, and the military 
have developed Algeria to what it is to-day. 
The Arab originally did not love the French, 
indeed he had no cause to, for they came and 
overran his country and put down abuses which 
he did not wish to have put down; but he has 
become philosophical, and has recognized that 
the iron horse forms a better means of trans- 
port than his mules and camels for the stuffs 
and goods of his trade and barter. He is com- 
mercial enough to want to do more business 
and make more money, so he tolerates the 
French; and, since his first experiences with 
the new order of things, he has prospered be- 


208 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





yond his wildest dreams. That has civilized 
and subdued the Arab in French Africa. It 
would subdue any savage. 

The fantasia is the classic diversion and 
showing-off pace of Algeria’s Spahi cavalry. 
No great function, local or otherwise, is com- 
plete without a fantasia, and here the Spahi is 
at his uncontrolled best. He rides dashingly 
around the field of the manceuvres, slashing 
with his sword at a leathern dummy of a man 
or a wooden ball on the top of a post, or with 
his stocky carbine shoots from the saddle, leaps 
hurdles, or throws his firearm high in the air 
and catches it again on its fall. All the time 
his charger is rushing about wildly and with- 
out method. The whole is a veritable military 
orgie of target-shooting, steeplechasing, mareh- 
ing and countermarching, and all with as pic- 
turesque a personnel and costuming as a circus. 

It is mimic savage warfare uncontrolled, and 
far more real and warlike than the goose-step 
evolutions of European armies. The fantasia 
is a spontaneous, every-man-on-his-own sort of 
an affair. The smell of gunpowder is in the 
air, and no Wild West or Cossack horseman 
ever gave half so vivid an example of agility 
as does a Spahi or a goum on his African jour 
de féte. 


CHAPTER XIII 
FROM ORAN TO THE MOROCCO FRONTIER 


THE western gateway to French Africa is 
through Oran, which, with its 88,000 inhabit- 
ants, is the second city of Algeria. Its chief 
attraction for the tourist who has seen, or is 
about to see, the rest of the country is its mag- 
nificent site and the recollection of the momen- 
tous history of its past. 

The most striking characteristic of its life 
and manners is the manifest Spanish influence 
which is over all, a relic of days gone by. Even 
the chief city gate, the Porte d’Espagne, still 
bears the ornamental escutcheons of the old 
Madrillenian governors; and, three kilometres 
distant from the centre of the town, are the 
celebrated ‘* Bains de la Reine,’’ a remem- 
brance of the epoch when Jeanne, ‘‘ La Folle,’’ 
daughter of Ferdinand the Catholic and Isa- 
bella, the mother of Charles V, took the baths 
there in state, ‘fin company with a brilliant 
cortege of knights and ladies.’’ Bathing was 

209 


210 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


more of a public ceremony then than now, evi- 
dently. 

One aspect of the life at Oran which one does 
not remark elsewhere is the numbers of Moroc- 
cans who slowly amble up and down, doing 
nothing, and living apparently in some mys- 
terious fashion. The Moroccan of to-day is the 
typical Berber of our imagination, swarthy, 
lithe, and scraggy-bearded. He is not lovely 
to look upon, but he is picturesque. 

One of the chief sights to be noted in the 
markets of Oran is the fruit market; and the 
principal article of commerce is the grenadine, 
a historic and classic fruit, and the one the 
most in favour with the Arab or Berber of 
simple tastes. It is not without reason that 
he chooses this delicious fruit; for it is food 
and drink in one. D’Annunzio called the gren- 
adine an “‘ écrin en cuir vermeil, surmonté de 
la couronne d’un row donateur,’’ and the de- 
seription is faithful and poetic enough for any 
man. The Arab toubibs, or doctors, believe it 
to be an efficacious remedy for all ills, and that 
its seed originally descended from the skies, a 
gift from Heaven to struggling humanity. It 
is certainly very beneficent as a remedy for 
tropical fevers. 

One will strain his eyes trying to hunt out 


From Oran to Morocco Frontier 211 





more than a few of the vestiges of the old Oran 
of the Spaniards. The French have very 
nearly wiped them out. It was a great port 
in the days of the Romans, and between that 
time and the Spanish occupation it had a long 
history. The Mohammedans founded a town 
here a thousand years ago; and, about the 
time Columbus was sailing around the West 
Indian island trying to find a new way to the 
Orient, a Spanish author wrote that Oran had 
six thousand houses, a hundred and forty 
mosques, and schools and colleges equal to those 
of Cordova, Granada and Seville. It was 
sometime after this that Oran became Spanish, 
and in turn it reverted to the banished Moors, 
to become French in 1831. 

Oran’s evolution from Spanish to French is 
interesting. It was once a penal colony of 
Spain, where from seven to ten thousand 
wicked unfortunates sweltered under an Afri- 
ean sun, laying the foundations of the present 
fortifications. The memory of this Spanish 
occupation is everywhere, but it is a memory 
only and is continually growing more vague. 
The soldiers of Islam captured Costechica from 
the Spaniards, and the French came in turn 
and took it and called it Oran. 

Oran, like the rest of the North African coast 


212 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


cities and towns, is polyglot in its people and 
its architecture. The Orient rubs shoulders 
with the Far West, and the mingling is more 
astonishing and picturesque than delightful. 
A red fez, an alpaca coat, and white duck trou- 
sers is a bizarre effect, so is a bowler hat and 
a burnous. Joseph’s coat of many colours was 
not more gaudy than that of many a Berber or 
Arab one sees to-day in Oran. The Sultans of 
other days have given way to an army Com- 
mandant, who, if he is a more practical person, 
is usually a less artistic one, and his influence 
is reflected in all his surroundings. 

The two religious monuments of Oran are cel- 
ebrated throughout all Algeria. The cathedral 
of St. Louis is a stronghold of the Christian 
church and an imposing, if not a very elegant, 
structure; whilst the Grande Mosquée, with 
the most remarkable and quaint octagonal min- 
aret in all Algeria, was built by a former pacha 
of Algiers with the money coming from the sale 
of Christian slaves: These two edifices well 
illustrate two opposing points of view, but they 
are both religious monuments. 

If you can stand a mountain climb from 
Oran, go up the slope of Mount Mourdjadja, 
and have what a German authority has discov- 


From Oran to Morocco Frontier 213 


ered to be the most impressive view in the 
world. The distance is but a few kilometres 
and the means of communication is shanks’ 
mare. Majorea and Almeria on the coast of 
Spain may, it is said, be seen on a fine day. 
We have our doubts! The climb is the classic, 
conventional thing to do, however, if time per- 
mits. 

Oran, like Algiers, Bona, and Philippeville, 
has become Huropeanized, Frenchified. Four- 
fifths of its population is native, but ask a 
Frenchman and he will tell you: ‘‘ Il n’y a rien 
d’exotique, c’est Paris.’’ This shows that the 
Frenchman frequents the French part of the 
town, and knows little of the hidden charm 
which exists on the fringe. He knows the Arab 
as an inferior menial, or a possible customer 
for his goods, but he knows nothing of his life, 
and cares less. 
~ The chief reason for coming to Oran at all 
is that it is the most:convenient starting-point 
for Tlemcen. Tlemcen, lying well over to the 
Morocean frontier, but linked with Oran by 
railway, is, in its plan and manner of life, the 
most original city in North Africa, the most 
captivating, and the least spoiled by modern 
innovations. It was the Pomaria of the Ro- 


214 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


mans and enjoys to-day the same admirable 
belt of wooded shade that it did in those far- 
off days. 

Tlemcen under Arab rule was sovereign of 
all the Moghreb, one of the great capitals of 
the Khalifs, the rival of Granada, Kairouan, 
Damascus, Cairo, and Bagdad. 

Above its rocky-red substructure the walls 
and minarets of Tlemcen still pierce the azure 
sky, but no longer do the Sultans rule its peo- 
ple. <A wild, untamed, savage soldiery has 
given place to French civil and military rule, 
and everybody is the more happy therefore. 
The Méchouar, the ancient palace of the Sul- 
tans, is an abandoned ruin, and the caserne of 
the Spahis and the Chasseurs d’ Afrique now 
stand for a superior variety of law and order. 
The architecture of the Moors is at its very 
best at Tlemcen, even the fragmentary dilap- 
idated remains in hidden-away corners are 
often the rival of the gems of the Alhambra 
itself. 

Tlemcen is the most splendid and gracious 
artists’ paradise in Algeria. A roving French- 
man whom we met at Algiers, and who 
painted better than he versified, wrote the fol- 
lowing for us on the back of his card which he 


From Oran to Morocco Frontier 215 


gave us as an introduction to the patron of the 
Hotel de France at Tlemcen. 


«‘ J] n’est pas une cité 
Qui dispute, sans folie, 
A Tlemcen la jolie 
La pomme de la beauté 
Et qui gracieuse étale 
Plus de pompe orientale 
Sous un ciel plus enchanté.” 


To-day at Tlemcen, more than in any other 
place in Algeria, one sees vestiges of the Moor- 
ish art and civilization of the days before the 
conquest, sculpturings in wall and gate, and 
tiny cupolas and minarets of a period greatly 
anterior to most others of their class. The 
fragmentary remains of Tlemcen’s sixty 
mosques existing in the sixteenth century 
spring into view here and there, at each turn- 
ing, in bewildering fashion. Tlemcen is in its 
decadence however, for from a city of 125,000 
souls it has dried up to one of 30,000, of which 
perhaps a tenth part are European. 

Tlemcen has many mosques, of which three 
must be noted as having been ‘‘ viewed and 
remarked,’’ as the antiquarians put it. The 
Grande Mosquée is the least grand, but it has 
a fine tower; the smallest mosque, that of 
Djama |’Hassen, is the most beautiful, and the 


216 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





best example of genuine Moorish architecture 
and decoration; the Mosque of Hl Haloui is the 
most daintily ornamented and most charming. 
The others dwindle down to ruined nothing- 
ness. Out of fifty-seven other minor mosques, 
most have been converted into cafés, shops, 
dwellings and sheep-folds, some are in ruins 
and some have disappeared entirely, but it is 
these unexpected fragments of a one-time 
splendour that makes the charm and value of 
Tlemcen for the artist. 

The native life of Tlemcen is another great 
feature for the stranger, and a caravan of sav- 
age-looking creatures from Morocco is no un- 
usual sight on a market day. How the late 
‘¢ disturbances ’’ in Morocco are going to af- 
fect the interstate traffic remains to be seen. 
Probably the interstate part of it will be wiped 
out, and France will absorb it all, as she ought 
to do, whatever England and Germany may 
think. France has made a success in govern- 
ing Mohammedans; the others have not. Jews, 
Ethiopians, and Arabs all people Tlemcen. 
That is what makes it so interesting to-day, 
and the types seem to be purer than elsewhere. 

In the third century Tlemcen underwent a 
formidable siege at the hand of a Soudanese 
and his followers. The assailants were as tena- 


From Oran to Morocco Frontier 217 


cious as the defenders, and many times were 
obliged to retreat. It was one of the remark- 
able sieges of history. The would-be invaders 
built houses to replace their tents which were 
no protection against the rude climate they 
were forced to undergo for a protracted period, 
as did the Spaniards of Santa Fé under the 
walls of Granada. Less fortunate than Ferdi- 
nand and Isabella, the enemies of the Khalifas 
of Tlemcen were obliged to retreat, abandoning 
their fortifications on the height, which the be- 
sieged, however, disdained to occupy. It is 
thus that the fortifications of Mansourah have 
remained unoccupied -for six hundred years, an 
ignoble monument to a campaign that failed. 

The countryside roundabout is fresh and 
thickly grown with a subtropical African flora, 
but the snows of a rigorous winter — which 
occasionally rest on the hillsides for weeks at 
a time — give a weird, contrasting effect hard 
to reconcile with the topographical and archi- 
tectural features of the landscape. The sight 
of Mansourah under a snowy blanket is one of 
the surprises which one, who twenty-four hours 
before left the vine-clad hillsides of Médea and 
the plains of orange groves neighbouring upon 
Blida, will never forget. 

The legend of the Mosque of Mansourah is 


218 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


a classic among the Arabs who inhabit the 
mountain city of Tlemcen. A negro king of 
the Soudan, who himself as well as his follow- 
ers were Mussulmans, invaded the region be- 
yond the Atlas and laid siege to Tlemcen. So 
long and well-sustained was the siege that the 
invading army sought to build a mosque in their 
midst. A sort of competition was held, and 
the winners were a Jew and an Arab. The 
Soudanese king was at first embarrassed, and 
then enlightened by a happy idea which church- 
building committees might well adopt. He 
commissioned the Arab to proceed with the 
construction of the interior of the mosque, the 
Jew to be responsible for the exterior. A won- 
derful struggle took place, in which all the arts 
and ingenuities of the two races were brought 
to play, and which resulted in one of the most 
splendid of all Arab mosques. 

The warrior king was highly pleased, and, 
calling the builders before him, said, frankly, 
that he had no words to express his satisfac- 
tion, nor ideas as to how they might be recom- 
pensed. The thing dragged for a time, as pay- 
ment of architects’ bills has ever done; and 
partisanship so got the influence of the better 
instincts of the king that, while he gave the 
faithful Mussulman builder many purses filled 


From Oran to Morocco Frontier 219 


with gold, he condemned the ‘‘ dog of an infidel 
Jew ’’ to be imprisoned in the upper gallery 
of the minaret, for having dared to even pene- 
trate the holy edifice. It never occurred to the 
dusky monarch that the procedure was defiling 
the shrine still more. 

‘‘ Escape if you can,’’ the Jew was told, as 
he was conducted to his prison. He did escape, 
after a fashion, so says the legend; for he 
made himself a pair of wings out of reeds and 
silks and cords; and, just as the blood-red sun 
plumped down behind the mountains of the 
Atlas, he launched himself in air. Like most 
flying-machine experimenters before and since, 
however, the daring innovator came forthwith 
to grief, falling precipitately at the base of 
the structure and smashing his skull. 

He died almost instantly, but before he ex- 
pired he uttered a final imprecation; the earth 
trembled, the thunder rolled, and the lightning 
blasted the minaret, which fell, as it may be 
seen to-day, lying almost en bloc, at full length, 
on the ground. 

The same legend has its counterpart, with 
variations, in other lands, but it is as likely 
to be true of the Mosque of Mansourah as of 
the Cathedral of Orgis in Roumania, or at Co- 
logne, in Crete or in Scandinavia. Legend was 


220 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


spread broadcast, even in the dark ages, by a 
system of ‘‘ wireless ’’ which has not yet been 
improved upon. 

Beyond Tlemcen the nearest Algerian settle- 
ment of size to the Moroccan frontier is Lalla- 
Marnia, twenty-four kilometres only from the 
centre of the late insurrection at Oudjda, now 
occupied by the French. The name of this 
advanced post comes from that of a sainted 
woman buried in a tiny kouba near the military 
camp. The place was always a strategic point, 
and formed the military frontier post of a band 
of Syrian invaders, who gave it originally the 
name of Numerus Syrorum. | 

Lalla-Marnia and Oudjda, one on Algerian 
soil and the other in Moroccan territory, sep- 
arated by twenty-five kilometres of sandy road- 
way, bear each other a sisterly resemblance. 
The fétes of Lalla-Marnia, with fantasias and 
horse-races and a savage feasting of the na- 
tives, are followed by their counterpart at 
Oudjda a week later. Needless to say the fétes 
are as yet unspoiled by non-contemporary in- 
terpolations. 

North from Lalla-Marnia is the little town- 
let of Nédroma, whose clannish inhabitants are 
one and all descended from the Moors of Anda- 
Jusia. The type here is the purest in North 





Arab Mosque of Bent-Ouni} 











From Oran to Morocco Frontier 221 


Africa, and the custom which binds them to- 
gether, presumably as a totem or prevention 
against marrying with outsiders, is most curi- 
ous. Each head of a family guards preciously 
the key of the paternal house in Spain, the 
same with which his ancestors locked their 
doors when they fled at the time of the expul- 
sion of their race from the peninsula. Every 
one of the Moors of Nédroma expects some 
day, when the great bell sounds the tocsin of 
revenge, to return and take up life anew in 
Andalusia. 

Away to the south of Tlemcen, or from Per- 
régaux, if one follows the railway, runs the 
road to far Sahara of the Sud-Oranais. Ain- 
Séfra, Beni-Ounif and Figuig are not even 
names known to the average outsider, albeit 
they have already achieved a certain promi- 
nence among geographers. Here the habitants, 
their manner of living, and their architecture 
take on a complexion quite different from any- 
thing known among the tribes of the north. 
All is blended with a savage crudeness which is 
alike exotic and picturesque. The Moorish 
mosques of the north give way to a severe Arab 
manner of building which is formidable and 
massive in outline and grim throughout. Mud, 
baked mud of a dingy red, packed together 


222 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


with straw and propped and bolstered here and 
there with the trunks of the palm-tree, are the 
chief characteristics of the Saharan Arab’s 
place of worship and of his dwelling as well. 
The contrasting descent from the beauties of 
the Mauresque variety is astonishing. 

Throughout the Sud-Oranais civilization of 
the European brand is fast spreading; the 
railway and the telegraph have reached Figuig 
and beyond, and absinthe — of a particularly 
forceful brew — can be had in the cafés, also 
Swedish matches (made in Belgium) and clay 
pipes (from Holland). Not long since all was 
a desert waste, but the ‘* Légionnaires,’’ that 
mixed crew of nation-builders propagated by 
the French military authorities, went down 
into the interior and traced roads and built 
fortifications until this anonymous work came 
to be succeeded by that of merchants and tra- 
ders of all creeds. 

One finds the ‘‘ kif’’ shops at every little 
village en route, often where he will not even 
find a ‘‘ café maure.’’ Frequently in the towns 
these dens are relegated to a site without the 
walls, but they huddle as closely to the centre 
of affairs as the authorities will allow. 

Architecturally and artistically they are but 
vile, unlovely holes, lighted usually by a single 


Acar 


smumysryy 9994218, 





doys {ry y 





| 





From Oran to Morocco Frontier 223 


wil hanging from the middle rafters. Most 
likely this @il is a fifty-cent barn lantern, made 
after the real Connecticut pattern, probably in 
Belgium or Germany. The oil that it burns is 
not even American; the ‘‘ Standard ’’ here in 
the Mediterranean is often Russian — put up 
in American tins. However, now that King 
Leopold of Belgium has gone into partnership 
with ‘‘ Standard ’’ representatives in the rub- 
ber business of the Congo, it’s only fair to sup- 
pose there may be a Rockefeller interest in the 
Russian oil trade. 

These fumeries de kif are to all intents and 
purposes low-class cafés, peopled with all the 
nomad riffraff of the Mediterranean - from 
Mogador to Crete. Seemingly no one is pro- 
prietor, but each shuffles around for himself 
regardless of any apparent reckoning to come. 
It is a picturesque setting indeed for a theatre 
of crime. 

For furnishings, a straw mat covers a part 
of the floor, and a few cushions of grimy em- 
broidered, or embossed, leather are backed up 
against the wall here and there. A great carven 
coffer, presumably a strong box containing the 
stock, ends the catalogue, if one excepts the 
now smoke-dimmed arabesques and horseshoe 
arched decorations of the walls themselves. 


224 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


In one we saw tied a bald-headed vulture, 
a dirty fowl, and an itinerant blind musician 
with a tanned skin, twanging out minor chords 
on a gambri, or Arab guitar with two strings, 
and those not even catgut, but a poor Arab 
substitute therefor. 

Figuig is the end of the railway line into the 
Sud-Oranais, and, though it and its Grand 
Hotel du Sahara are of little interest to the 
tourist, the surrounding environment is as far 
removed from civilization as one could hope 
to get and yet find himself fairly comfortable 
between the four walls of a hotel of imposing 
proportions. 

Figuig is the virtual end of encroaching civi- 
lization; eight hundred odd kilometres from 
the coast straight south into the desert. The 
railway is not intended to stop at Figuig; and, 
by this time, it may have reached Colomb- 
Béchar, a hundred kilometres further on, to 
which point it was projected when these lines 
were written. Fifteen miles an hour is the 
ordinary speed of this toy railway, and the 
journey takes from twenty-four to thirty hours 
of uncomfortable and dusty travelling, which 
costs, however, only a matter of a hundred 
franes or so, coming and going. 

Going east from Figuig, four hundred kilo- 





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From Oran to Morocco Frontier 225 


metres, the only communication being by the 
caravan trail, is Laghouat, another outpost of 
civilization on the desert’s edge. 

Laghouat, like most desert towns, like Toug- 
gourt, like Tozeur, like Biskra even, is an oasis. 
In its markets one may see the traffickings of all 









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Hotel at Figuig 


the desert types of the Sahara, from the M’zab 
—the Auvergnats of Algeria — to the wander- 
ing nomads of the south, — the tramps of the 
desert, not omitting the picturesque Ouled- 
Nails and the terrible Touaregs, with their still 
more terrible-looking guns and their heads 
swathed in black veils. 

At Laghouat and Figuig one gets the truest 
perspective of the life of the desert that one 
can have short of Oued-Souf in the Sud-Con- 
stantinois. Biskra is in the class of ‘‘ exploited 
tourist points,’’ whilst these desert towns are 


226 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





practically inaccessible to all but the hardiest 
of travellers,—the real genuine travel-lover, 
not those who are averse to riding in creaky 
diligences with dusky Arabs for companions, 
or on mule, donkey, or camel back, for all these 
means of locomotion come into the desert itin- 
erary. 


CHAPTER XIV 
THE MITIDJA AND THE SAHEL 


THe whole region just west of Algiers is very 
properly accounted the garden of North Africa. 
Wheat, the vine, the orange, and all the range 
of primeurs which go to grace the tables d’hdte 
at Paris are grown here to the profit of all and 
sundry, native and colonist alike, who possess 
a garden plot of virgin soil. 

Boufarik, in the midst of the great plain of 
the Mitidja, is a garden city if there ever was 
one. It is beautifully and geometrically laid 
out, like Philadelphia, though it doesn’t re- 
semble the Quaker City in the least; it is more 
lively. zt 

The great day at Boufarik is the market day, 
when a great cattle and sheep market is held 
(every Monday week). To-day. this great mar- 
ket is a survival of one which has been held 
for ages. 

The coming of the French made for the in- 
creased prosperity of Boufarik, and its former 
reputation of being a pest-hole has been en- 

227 


228 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


tirely overridden by a series of civic improve- 
ments which not only resulted in cleaning up 
the town but made it really beautiful as well. 
The Monday market at Boufarik is one of the 
things to come out from Algiers to see. For 
once put carriage or automobile behind and 





Market, Boufarik 


travel out by train or diligence, and mingle with 
the people and see what the real native life of 
Algeria is like, so far as it can be seen, uncon- 
taminated by foreign influence. Better yet, go 
out the night before and sleep at the Hotel 
Benoit. It is unlovely enough as an inn, but 
the dishes served at dinner and breakfast are 


The Mitidja and the Sahel 229 


very good; reminiscent of North Africa, but 
bountiful and excellent. There is nothing of- 
fensive or unclean about the hotel, if it is crude; 
but the colour one gathers on the palette of his 
memory is very local. 

From the afternoon of Sunday, on all the 
roads leading into Boufarik, from Cherchell 
and the Sahel, from Miliana, from Blida and 
Algiers, throng the thousands that will make 
up the personnel of to-morrow’s market. They 
come on camel-back, on horses, mules, and 
donkeys, on foot, by diligence, and by rail, 
herded in flat unroofed cars like cattle. Some 
are the pure Arab type of the sandy dunes and 
plains of the waste Sahara, others Berber-Ka- 
byles, and others Jews, Maltese, Spaniards, 
French, Italians and — tell it not in Gath — 
Germans. The contrast of the types is as great 
as the contrast between their modes of convey- 
ance, the contrast between the plodding little 
donkeys and the great, tall, lumpy camels. The 
comings and goings of the great native market 
of Boufarik are a perpetual migration, and 
there is nothing the Arab likes more than to 
participate in such an affair. It is his great 
passion and diversion, and the fact that he 
stands to gain a little money is not so much 
an object with him as to kill a little time. 


230 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


From daybreak, the vast quadrangle on the 
Route de Blida, outside Boufarik’s rectangular 
fortifications, 1s given over to tents, shops, and 
booths. Here and there is a corral of donkeys 
or mules, or a pen full of sheep. Braying 
donkeys and bleating sheep are everywhere. 
The great avenues of plane-trees form a grove, 
and wherever they cross some more powerful 
or wily trader has squatted on the ground, to 
the discomfort of his less fortunate competitor, 
who, perforce, has to content himself with the 
shady side of a camel. Leading up to this 
unique market-place is a splendid avenue of 
orange-trees. 

A superb disorder of trumpery brummagem 
cutlery, stuffs, firearms and pots and pans clut- 
ter the ground in every direction. Water-sell- 
ers and milk-sellers are threading everywhere, 
each loaded down with. his peau de bouc, and 
fruit and bread sellers with their wicker bas- 
kets. Saddlery, horseshoes, ropes of hemp, 
jute, and camel’s-hair all mingle in a pictur- 
esque chaos. There are even hand sewing-ma- 
chines, of the little doll-house variety that the 
native populations of India, Japan, Patagonia 
affect as their sole intercourse with modernity. 

A few women mingle among the groups, but 


The Mitidja and the Sahel 231 


mostly the crowd 1s made up of men. Rarely 
are these market women beautiful except in a 
savage way. ‘They possess most of the male 
characteristics of manner, and but few of the 
wiles and little of the coquettishness of woman. 
Their visages are tanned to copper colour and 
sowed with ridges and folds. Many indeed are 
out and out negresses. 

Here beside a stall sits a Soudan negress of 
fat, flabby visage and large round eyes, as ami- 
able as some greasy animal in captivity — and 
about as intelligent. She is only a watcher or 
caretaker; the real owner of the stall, with its 
melons, its skins, and its baskets, is over yon- 
der in a Moorish café playing dominoes. 

From her head and shoulders hang great 
chains of silver, and in the lobes of her ears 
are pendants which may be gold or not. She is 
a barbaric savage, splendid in her savagery and 
indifferent, apparently, to everything and 
everybody. But she is part of the setting 
nevertheless, and she is good to see. 

The coast plain west of Algiers, the Sahel 
properly called, is in strong contrast with the 
cultivated plain of the Mitidja. The whole 
journey from Algiers out to Cherchell and back, 
via Miliana, Blida, and Boufarik, gives one as 


232 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


good an idea of the ancient and modern civili- 
zation of North Africa as one could possibly 
have. 

Blida sits calmly in its fertile plain at the 
foot of the imposing hills which, grouped to- 
gether, form the mountains of the Beni-Salah. 
All round about are orange groves and olive- 
trees of the very first splendour and produc- 
tion. The Bois Sacré, Blida’s chief sight, is 
as picturesque and romantic a woodland as 
the sentiment of a poet or an artist ever con- 
jured up. 

Blida dates from the sixteenth century, when 
a number of Andalusian families settled here 
because of the suitability of the region for the 
cultivation of the orange, — and the commerce 
has been growing ever since. In the olden 
times Blida was known as QOuarda, the little 
rose; but afterwards when the Turks and Cor- 
sairs held their orgy there, it came to be called 
Khaaba, the prostitute. Since that day it has 
got back its good name and is one of the 
liveliest, daintiest, and altogether attractive 
small cities of Algeria. The native and the 
French alike know it is la voluptueuse or la 
parfumee. 

Within Blida’s Bois Sacré is the venerated 
marabout of Sidi-Yacoub-ech-Cheérif, one of the 





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The Mitidja and the Sahel 233 


celebrated kouba shrines of Islam. No repro- 
duction of it can do its cool, leafy surroundings 
justice. -It is the very ideal of a holy man’s 
retreat and one of the most appealing of 
shrines to those possessed of the artist’s eye. 
Fragonard or Corot might have spent a life- 
time painting the forest interiors of the un- 
spoiled wild-wood of Blida’s Bows Sacré. The 
writer is not sure that the author of ‘‘ Mignon ’’ 
ever saw or heard of Blida, but his verses were 
most apropos: 


« Connais-tu le pays ot fleurit l’oranger, 
Le pays des fruits d’or et des roses vermeilles ? 


Ou rayonne et sourit comme un bienfait de Dieu, 
Un éternel printemps sous un ciel toujours bleu. 


C’est la que je voudrais vivre, 
mimeriet mournr 2i.yvaCrest la les.” 


~ In connection with Blida it is worthy of rec- 
ord that the celebrated and venerable bach- 
agha Sid Ben Gannah, of Biskra, Grand-Chef 
of the Sud-Constantinois, recently underwent 
a ‘‘cure’’ at the military hospital at Blida. 
His malady had become a chronic one, and his 
complete restoration to health through the aid 
of the capable doctors of the hospital and the 
mild soft air of Blida has done more than any- 


234 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


thing else to allay the fanatical superstition of 
the native against the efficacy of the proper pro- 
fessional treatment of the sick. 

The ‘‘ cure ’’ experienced by their favourite 
bach-agha, the friend of the King of England 
and bearer of a hundred personal decorations, 
the ‘‘ grand old man ’’ of the country, has been 
heralded wide amongst the natives, from Con- 
stantine to Beni-Souf, and Ouardja to El] Oued, 
and has struck the death-knell of the voodooism 
of the indigéne “* toubibs ’’ and quacks. 

For many years yet, it is to be hoped, the 
native may continue to demand the benedictions 
of Mohammed for their respected chief: 

“* Ou sela Allah ala ou moulano on ala hebel 
daro ou ala sahabou ou Salem! ’’ 

A peculiarity of the Mauresques of Blida is 
that they veil themselves in a most strange 
manner. Instead of covering their faces, leav- 
ing only two glittering black eyes peeping out, 
they cover all but one eye. A woman who veils 
after that manner looks suspicious. Beware! 

At the Mediterranean extremity of the great 
plain in which lies Blida — a veritable Garden 
of Eden, with oranges, figs, grapes, pomegran- 
ates and even the apples of Eve —is the little 
hill-town of Kolea. 3 

Kolea is extraordinary from every point of 








A Mauresque oj Blida 





The Mitidja and the Sahel 25 


view. Kolea is a military town; the Zouaves 
are everywhere, and in their train have come 
a following of Greeks, Turks, and Maltese. 
But the lttle garden-town with its Jardin des 
Zouaves, its two mosques, its turreted foun- 
tain and its modern Renaissance Mairie is at- 
tractive throughout, albeit it is not the least 
Oriental. 

The Hotel de France, partly Moorish (the 
good part), and partly French (the ugly part), 
is one of those French inns that are indescri- 
bably excellent. There is a sure-to-be Gabrielle 
who presides at the cook stove and another who 
serves at table and orders up the vin rosé from 
the cellar when the red or the white wine is too 
strong (16 degrees) for one’s taste. They are 
wonderfully good, those wines of the Sahel. 

It is a remarkably brilliant strip of coast- 
line extending west from Algiers, and it should 
be covered in its entirety as far as Cherchell if 
one would realize the varied beauties and at- 
tractions of the Algerian littoral. From Saint- 
EKugéne and Point Pescade, suburbs of Algiers, 
a fine road extends all the way to Cherchell, a 
matter of nearly a hundred kilometres, the tur- 
quoise Mediterranean always to the right. 

At Sidi-Ferruch the French troops first 
landed when on their conquest of Algeria. At 


236 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Staouéli-la-Trappe is an abbey where there are 
a hundred and fifty lay brothers who grow 
oranges and fine fruits, and while their dull 
lives away comfortably under the brilliant skies 
of Africa. : 

Going still further along the coast, we come 
to Castiglione, sheltering itself behind a sand- 
dune, from whence it is but a few kilometres 
to the ‘‘ Tombeau de la Chrétienne,’’ as impo- 
sing and extraordinary a monument as any of 
the pyramids of Ghizeh. Architecturally, if not 
beautiful, it is imposing, and mysterious, in that 
it is constructed on a most original plan. It 
is a great mound of superimposed cut stone, 
entered by a pillared portico, now somewhat 
ruined. This funeral monument has an appeal 
for the archeologist and the merely curious 
alike far beyond many a more conventional 
monument of its class. The gigantic monument 
is still supposed to contain many and wonder- 
ful treasures, unless they were removed and 
lost in the forgotten past, for as yet none have 
been brought to light. Tradition has the fol- 
lowing tale to tell of this monumental sepul- 
chre. 

One day a Christian woman, fleeing from a 
rabble of unholy men and women, took refuge 
in this commemorative shrine, built by some 


The Mitidja and the Sahei ay 


holy person whose name is forgotten. Her pur- 
suers, coming upon her in her retreat, would 
have fallen upon her and done her injury, even 
as she was at her prayers, when suddenly a 
myriad of flies, mosquitoes, and wasps put the 
invaders to flight. The frightened woman lived 
a hermit’s life here in her stronghold, and at 
the end of her span came to die within the im- 
penetrable walls. Ever afterward the cone-like 
mound was known as the Tombeau de la Chre- 
tienne. 

The Arabs call this bizarre tomb Kaber- 
Roumia. In 1866 it was explored by a band of 
archeologists, who decided that it was the tomb 
of the Kings of Mauretania, built by Jubal II 
in the reign of the great Augustus. 

The reader may take his choice of the rea- 
sons for the existence of this remarkable monu- 
ment. One is about as well authenticated as the 
other. It existed already in 1555, for the rec- 
ords tell that a Pacha of Algiers, Salah Rais, 
tried, but without success, to destroy the edifice 
by firing stone cannon-balls at the mass. Noth- 
ing happened; the monument was not despoiled 
of its outlines even. This fact speaks badly 
either for the old Turkish ammunition or for 
the skill of the gunners who fired it. 

Tipaza, the chef heu of a commune with a 


238 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


population of between two or three thousand, 
is a little coast town and comes next on the 
itinerary from Algiers to Cherchell. 

At Tipaza are still more Roman ruins, cover- 
ing an area over two thousand metres square. 
Tipaza was one of the cities of Mauretania 
where the Christian religion was practised with 
the utmost fervour. The patron saint of the 
place was one Salsa, a young girl, who, accord- 
ing to tradition, was put to death at the begin- 
ning of the fourth century for having destroyed 
a pagan idol. Such was religious partisanship 
of the time. A century later the Vandal king 
Hunéric, in order to subdue Christianity, 
caused all those professing it to have their right 
hands cut off and their tongues cut out. This 
was the extreme of cruelty and its effect on 
Christendom is historic. 

The Roman monuments still existing at Ti- 
paza include a theatre, which is in a poor state 
of preservation. This has been restored in re- 
eent years to the extent that commemorative 
dramatic performances have been held here in 
the open air, as at Carthage, and at Orange in 
Provence. The outlines of a great basilica of 
nine naves, where Sainte Salsa was buried, are 
still well preserved, and there are also some- 
thing more than fragments of the baths and 


The Mitidja and the Sahel 239 


water-works, which supplied the drinking water 
for the surrounding country. 

From Tipaza to Cherchell is thirty kilometres 
by road, which is the only means of reaching 
the latter place unless one goes from Algiers 
by steamer along the coast, a voyage not to be 
recommended for various reasons. 

‘Cherchell possesses the best-preserved out- 
lines of an historic occupation of the past of 
any of the old Roman settlements of the ‘‘ Dé- 
partement d’Alger.’’ First as the Phcenician 
colony of Iol, and later, under Jubal II, as Ce- 
sarea, the capital of Mauretania. Cherchell 
came under the sway of the Roman Empire in 
the year 40 of the Christian era. The province 
of Mauretania extended from the Moulouia to 
the Setif of the present day. In the middle ages 
Cesarea lay dormant for three centuries; but 
before this, and again afterwards, its activities 
were such that the part it played in the history 
and development of the country was most mo- 
mentous. 

As late as the early years of the past century, 
the city and port was the refuge of a band of 
pirates which pillaged throughout all the west- 
ern waters of the Mediterranean. 

The ancient port of Cherchell was the scene 
of the comings and goings of a vast commerce 


240 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


in Pheenician and Roman times; and the pres- 
ent state of the preservation of the moles and 
jetties of this old harbour of refuge stamps 
Cherchell as worthy of comparison with Car- 
thage. 

The Roman ruins at Cherchell are stupen- 
dous, though fragmentary, and not overnumer- 
ous. In the inefficiently installed ‘‘ Musée ’’ 
are many of the finest gems of antique sculp- 
tures and statuary yet found in Africa. There 
is a catalogue of these numerous discoveries, 
eompiled by M. Wierzejski, which can be had at 
the book-shops of Algiers, and which will prove 
invaluable to those interested in the subject in 
detail. 

The chief Roman monuments remaining in 
place above ground are the Western Baths and 
the Central Baths: the Cisterns, the Amphi- 
theatre, — where was martyred Sainte Marci- 
ane, — the Circus, and the extensive ramparts 
sweeping around to the south of the town from 
one part of the coast-line to another. 

Cherchell has a population of nine thousand 
souls to-day, of which perhaps a third are Eu- 
ropeans. In Roman times it must have had a 
vast population judging from the area within 
the ramparts. 

The ancient Grande Mosquée of the Arab oc- 


The Mitidja and the Sahel 241 





cupation is now a military hospital. This has 
had added to it numerous beautifully propor- 
tioned columns, with elaborately carved capi- 
tals, taken from the ruins of the Central Baths. 

South from Cherchell, back from the coast 
towards the mountains of the ‘‘ Petit Atlas,”’ 
fifty kilometres or more by a not very direct 
road, and connected by a service of public dili- 
gences, is Miliana. One will not repent a 
‘¢ stop-over ’’ at this unspoiled little African 
city. The country reminds one of what the 
French would eall a ‘‘ petite Suisse Africaine.’’ 
The valleys and plains have a remarkable fresh- 
ness of atmosphere that one does not associate 
with a semi-tropical sun. 

Miliana itself sits high on the flank of the 
Zacear-Gharbi, and is the lineal descendant of 
the Zucchabar of the Romans. Actually, it was 
founded in the tenth century. At the time of 
the French occupation of Algeria Abd-el-Kader 
here installed Ali-ben-Embarek (who after- 
wards became the Agha of the Mitidja under 
the French). But with the occupation of Mé- 
dea, in 1840, the stronghold fell and the Arab 
power was broken for ever in these parts. 

Miliana is a walled town to-day, as it was 
in the days of the Romans and Berbers. On 
the north is the Porte du Zaccar, and on the 


242 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





south the Porte du Chélif. This snug little hill- 
town, with only a quarter part of its popula- 
tion European, not counting half as many more 
Israelites, has a character which places it at 
once in a class by itself. It has an attractive 
little commercial hotel, where one eats and 
drinks the best of the countryside and pays 
comparatively little for it. 

A wide terrace, or esplanade, runs around 
one side of the town overlooking the walls, and 
a wide-spread panorama stretches away on the 
east and west and north and south into infinity, 
with the imposing mass of the Ouarsenis, called 
“Veil du monde,’’ as the dominant landscape 
feature. The terrace is called locally the ‘‘ coin 
des blagueurs.’’ Why, no one pretends to an- 
swer, except that all the world foregathers here 
to stroll and gossip as they do on the ‘‘ cours ’’ 
of a Provencal town. 

Miliana’s mosque is a simple but elegant 
structure, graceful but not ornate, imposing but 
not majestic. It is dedicated to Sidi-Ahmed- 
ben-Youssef, a venerated marabout who lived 
all his life hereabouts. He had as bitter and 
satirical a tongue as Dean Swift when speak- 
ing of the men and manners of those about him. 

Turning eastward again from Mihana 
towards Algiers, one passes the entrance to 


The Mitidja and the Sahel 243 


the Gorges de Chiffa, the road to Médea, and 
finally Blida, the centre of the little yellow, 
thin-skinned orange traffic. 

From Blida a classic excursion is to be made 
to the Gorges de Chiffa, where, at the Ruisseau 
des Singes, formerly lived a colony of hun- 
dreds, perhaps thousands of monkeys in their 





wild native state. Nowadays the only monkeys 
one sees are on the frieze in the salle-d-manger 
of a most excellently appointed little wayside 
hotel. 

Hamman-R’hira, on the road between Mili- 
ana and Blida, is an incipient watering-place, 
where one can get tea and American drinks, 
and play croquet. 

Its mineral springs—much like those of 
Contrexeville in France — have been famous 


244 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


for centuries, and the old Moorish baths are 
still used by the Moors and Arabs round about. 
For the Europeans who, throughout the spring 
and winter season, throng to the great hotel, 
now managed by a limited company, there are 
other baths more luxuriously installed. ) 

Hamman-R’hira is an attractive enough 
place of itself, and would be more so were it 
not filled with rheumatics and anemics. ‘The 
frequenters of the Moorish baths are more in- 
teresting than the European clientele for the 
investigator of men and manners. 


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CHAPTER XV 
THE GREAT WHITE CITY — ALGIERS 


Tue first view of Algiers from the ship, as 
one enters the port, is a dream of fairyland, 
“* Alger la Blanche!’”’ ‘‘ El Djesair la molle! ”’ 
If it is in the morning, all is white and dazzling; 
if in the evening, a rosy violet haze is over all, 
with the background of the ‘‘ Petit Atlas ’’ and 
the Djurjura shutting off the littoral from the 
wide Sahara to the south. At twilight a thou- 
sand twinkling lights break out, from the Kasba 
on the height, from Mustapha, from the terrace 
boulevard which flanks the port and from the 
ships in the harbour. A stronger ray flashes 
from the headland lighthouse at Cap Matifou, 
and still others from war-ships in the great 
open gulf. Algiers is truly fairy-like from any 
point of view. 

The Algiers of to-day is a great and populous 
city. It is the Icosium of the Romans doubled, 
tripled, and quadrupled. Three towns in juxta- 
position stretch from Saint-Eugéne on the west 
to Mustapha on the east, while Algiers proper 

245 


246 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


has for its heart the ‘‘ Place du Gouverne- 
ment ’’ and the ‘‘ Grande Mosquée.’’ 

The Place du Gouvernement is a vast square, 
a sort of modern forum, flanked on one side 
by the Mosque of Djema-el-Djedid, the Grande 
Mosquée, and on the others by shops, cafés, 
and hotels. From it stretch the four great 
thoroughfares of the city, Bab-el-Oued, La 
Marine, La Kasba, and Bab-Azoum. All the 
animation and the tumult of the city centres 
here, and the passing throng of Arabs, soldiers, 
Jews, Mauresques, and the French and foreign 
elements, forms an ethnological exhibit as va- 
ried as it is unusual. 

Algiers has a special atmosphere all its own. 
It lacks those little graces which we identify as 
thoroughly French, in spite of the fact that the 
city itself has become so largely Frenchified ; 
and it lacks to a very great extent — from al- 
most every view-point — that Oriental flavour 
which one finds at Cairo and Tunis. But for 
all that, Algiers is the most wonderful exotic 
and conventional blend of things Arab and Eu- 
ropean on top of earth. 

The environs of Algiers are rugged and full 
of character, opening out here and there into 
charming distant vistas, and wide panoramas 
of land and sea and sky. All is large, immense, 


The Great White City — Algiers 247 


and yet as finely focussed as a miniature. One 
must not, however, attempt to take in too great 
an angle at a single glance, else the effect will 
be blurred, or perhaps lost entirely. 

The impulsive ones, who like the romance of 
Touraine and the daintiness of valley of the 
Indre and the Cher, will find little to their liking 
around Algiers. All is of a ruggedness, if not 
a savageness, that the more highly developed 
civilization of the ‘‘ Midi’’ has quite wiped 
out. Here the ragged eucalyptus takes the 
place of the poplar, and the platane is more 
common than the aspen or the birch. The palm- 
trees are everywhere, but just here they are 
of the cultivated or transplanted variety and 
generally of the feather-duster species, decora- 
tive and pleasing to look upon, but givers 
neither of dates nor of shade. 

Algiers and its life, and that of its immediate 
environs, whether the imported gaieties of Mus- 
tapha or the native fétes of Bouzarea, and the 
periodical functions for ever taking place in 
the city itself, give about as lively an exposition 
of cosmopolitanism as one may observe any- 
where. 

The historical monuments of Algiers are not 
as many as might at first be supposed, for most 
of its memories of historic times deals with 


248 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


places rather than things; and, indeed, this is 
true of the whole surrounding country, from 
Tizi-Ouzou in Kabylie to Cherchell and Tipaza 
in the Sahel, to the west. 

The chief of Algiers’ architectural charms — 
aside from that varied collection of crazy walls 
and crooked streets which make up the Arab 
town — are the Archbishop’s Palace, —a fine 
old Arab house of a former Dey of Algiers; the 
Pefion and the Amirauté, or what is left of it, 
on the mole below the Palais Consulaire; its 
three principal mosques; the cathedral, — the 
mosque of other days transformed; the Palais 
d’Eté of the Governor-General, in part dating 
from the seventeenth century, and the Kasba 
fortress, high up above the new and old town. 

These are all guide-books sights, and the only 
comments herewith are a few hazarded per- 
sonal opinions. 

High above, up through the streets of stairs, 
scarce the width of two people side by side, and 
still up by whitewashed walls, great iron- 
studded doors and grilled windows, sits the 
Kasba, the great fortress defence of Algiers 
since the days when Turkish rule gave it the 
most unenviable reputation in all the world. 
There is a continual passing and repassing of 
all Algiers’ population, apparently, from the 


The Great White City — Algiers 249 


lower town to the height above, Europeans, 
Arabs, Moors and Jews. The scene is ever 
changing and kaleidoscopic. A white wraith 
toddles along before one, and, as you draw near, 
resolves into a swaddled Mauresque who, half 
afraid, giggles at you through the opening of 
her veil and suddenly disappears through some 
dim-lighted doorway, her place only to be taken 
by another form as shapeless and mysterious. 

This is the Arab town day or night; and but 
for the steep slope one might readily lose him- 
self in the maze of streets and alleys. As it 
is all one has to do is to keep moving, not mind- 
ing the gigglings and gibings of the natives. 
One enters the ville Arabe by any one of a 
hundred streets or alleys. At its outmost 
height you are at the Kasba; when you reach 
the bottom you are in the Kuropean town. To 
the right or left you reach a sort of encircling 
boulevard which in turn brings you to the same 
objectives. It is not so difficult as it looks, and 
one need fear nothing, night or day, until he 
reaches the Huropean town and civilization, 
where thievery and murderings are nightly oc- 
currences. 

Here in the old Arab town one is in another 
world; here are the maisons a terrasse, the 
mosques, the narrow ruelles with their over- 


250 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


hung porches and only occasional glimpses of 
the starry sky overhead. Verily it is as if one 
had left the electric-lighted ‘‘ Place,’’ the cafés 
chantants, the tramway, and the shipping be- 
hind in another world, though in reality a hun- 
dred steps, practically, in any direction will 
bring them all within sight and sound and smell 
again. 

After all, the quaint streets of the hillside 
town are Algiers’ chief sights, after the mag- 
nificent panorama of the bay and that wonder- 
ful first view as seen from the ship as one en- 
ters the port. 

Algiers’ native quarter has been somewhat 
spoiled by the cutting through of new streets, 
and the demolishing and refurbishing of old 
buildings; but, nevertheless, there are little 
corners and stretches here and there where the 
daily life of the native men and women goes 
on to-day as it did when they lived under Turk- 
ish rule. Here are the shopkeepers of all 
ranks: a butcher dozing behind his moucha- 
rabia, looking like the portraits of Abd-el-Ka- 
der; a date-seller, the image of the Khedive 
of Egypt; a baker with a Jewish cast of fig- 
ure; and next door a café-maure with all 
the leisure population of the neighbourhood 
stretched out on the nattes and benches, smok- 


The Great White City — Algiers 251 


ing and talking and drinking. It is not fairy- 
land, nor anything like it; it is not even Ori- 
ental; but it is strange to Anglo-Saxon, or 
even European, eyes that such things should 
be when we ourselves are wallowing in an over- 
abundance of labour-saving, comfort-giving 
luxuries which the Arab has never dreamed of. 
We chase our flies away with an electric fan, 
whilst he idly waves a chasse-mouches of an- 
tique pattern, and does the thing quite as ef- 
fectively, and with very little more effort. 

They are very grave, magnificently tranquil, 
these turbaned Turks and Jews and Arabs, sit- 
ting majestic and silent before some café door, 
clad in all the rainbow colours of civilization 
and savagery. Their peace of mind is some- 
thing we might all acquire with advantage, in- 
stead of strenuously ‘‘ going the pace ’’ and 
trying to keep up with, or a little ahead of, the 
next. 

In spite of its strangeness, Algiers is not at 
all Oriental. The Arabs of Algiers themselves 
lack almost totally the aspect of Orientalism. 
The Turk and Jew have made the North Afri- 
ean Arab what he is, and his Orientalism is 
simply the Orientalism of the Hast blended and 
browned with the subtropical rays of the Afri- 
ean sun. It is undeniably picturesque and ex- 


252 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


otic, but it is not the pure Eastern or Byzantine 
variety which we at first think it. To realize 
this to the full, one has only to make the com- 
parison between Algiers and Cairo and Tunis. 

It is the cosmopolitan blend of the new and 
the old, of the savage with the civilized, that 
makes cosmopolitan Algiers what it is. This 
mixture of many foreign elements of men and 
manners is greatly to be remarked, and no- 
where more than in Algiers’ cafés, where 
French, English, Americans, and Arabs meet 
in equality over their café-cognac, though the 
Arab omits the cognac. The cosmopolitanism 
of Marseilles is lively and varied, that of Port 
Said ragged and picturesque, but that of Al- 
giers is brilliantly complicated. 

Algiers is the best kept, most highly im- 
proved, and, by far, the most progressive city 
on the shores of the great Mediterranean Lake, 
and this in spite of its contrast of the old and 
new civilizations. San Francisco could take a 
lesson from Algiers in many things civic, and 
the street-cleaners of London and Paris are 
notably behind their brothers of this African 
metropolis. 

The marchand de cacaoettes is the king of Al- 
giers’ Place du Gouvernement; or, if he isn’t, 


The Great White City — Algiers 253 


the bootblack with his ‘* Cire, m’ssieu! ’’ holds 
the title. Anyway, the peanut-seller is the aris- 
tocrat. He sits in the sun with a white or 
green umbrella over his head, and is content if 
he sells fifty centimes worth of peanuts a day. 
His possible purchasers are many, but his cli- 
ents are few, and at a sou for a fair-sized bag 
full, he doesn’t gather a fortune very quickly. 
Still he is content, and that’s the main thing. 
The bootblack is more difficult to satisfy. He 
will want to give your shoes a “‘ glace de 
Paris,’’ even if another of his compatriots has 
just given them a first coating of the same 
thing. The bootblacks of Algiers are obstinate, 
importunate, and exasperating. 

From a document of 1621 one learns that Al- 
giers had a population of 100,000 in 1553, a half 
a century later 150,000, and in 1621 200,000. 
Then came the decadence; and, at the coming 
of the French in 1832, Algiers was but a city 
of 34,000, Moors, Turks, Jews, Negroes, and 
Arabs all counted. 

They were divided as follows: 


Mussulmans 17,858 
Negroes 1,380 
Jews 5,758 
Floating population 9,888 


254 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





By 1847 a European population had crowded 
in which brought the figures up to 103,610 and 
gave Algiers a rank of fifth among French 
cities. 

Algiers’ busy port is picturesque and lively 
in every aspect, with the hourly comings and 
goings of great steamships from all the length 
and breadth of the Mediterranean, and from the 
seven seas as well. Over all is the great bound- 
less blue of a subtropical, cloudless sky; be- 
neath the restless lapping of the waves of the 
still bluer Mediterranean; and everywhere the 
indescribable odour of bitume, of sea salt, and 
of oranges. The background is the dazzling 
walls of the arcaded terraces of the town, and 
the still higher turrets and towers of a modern 
and ancient civilization. Still farther away are 
the rolling, olive-clad hills and mountains of 
the Sahel. Sunrise or sunset on Algiers’ port 
are alike beautiful; one should miss neither. 

The best-remembered historical and roman- 
tic figures of Algiers are Pedro Navarro, who 
built the Pefon; the brothers Barberousse, 
Corsairs from the Dardanelles, whom the Al- 
gerians called in to help them fight their battles 
against Christianity; and Cervantes, the au- 
thor of ‘‘ Don Quixote,’’ who was imprisoned 
here, and who left an imperishable account of 


The Great White City — Algiers 255 


the city of his captivity, ever useful to later 
historians. | 

Charles V and Louis XIV both had a go at 
Algiers, but it fell not to their attack; and it 
was only with later times, incident upon an 
insult offered the French ambassador by Hus- 
sein Dey, the Turkish ruler of the El-Djezair 
of the ancients, that Algiers first capitulated to 
outside attack. 

Oid Algiers was not impregnable, perhaps, 
but such weapons of warfare as were used 
against the Turks were inefficient against its 
thick walls, its outposts, and its fortified gates. 

The historic Penon underwent many a medi- 
eval siege, but was finally captured from its 
Spanish defender, De Vegas, and his little band 
of twenty-five survivors, who were summarily 
put to death. Khair Ed Din pulled down, in 
part, the fortifications and joined the remain- 
der by a jetty to the mainland, the same break- 
water which to-day shelters the port on the 
north. <A fragment of one of the original sig- 
nal towers was built up into the present Jight- 
house, and a system of defences, the most for- 
midable on the North African coast, was begun. 
The fortifications of Algiers were barriers 
which separated the growing civilization of Eu- 
rope from the barbarian nether world, and they 


256 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


fell only with the coming of the French in the 
second quarter of the nineteenth century. Such 
is the story of the entering wedge of progress- 
ive civilization in Algeria. 

Algiers’ veiled women are one of the city’s 
chief and most curious sights for the stranger 
within her walls. On Friday, the jour des 
morts of the Arab women, they go to the ceme- 
tery to weep or to make gay, according as the 
mood is on. For the recluse Arab women it is 
more apt to be a féete-day than a day of sorrow. 
They dress in their finest, their newest, and 
their cleanest, and load themselves down with 
jangling jewelry to the limit of their posses- 
sions. By twos and threes, seldom alone, they 
go to make their devotions at the Kouba of 
Didi-Mohammed Abd-er-Rahman Bou Kobrin. 

Poor prisoner women; six days a week they 
do not put foot outside their doors; and on the 
seventh they take a day’s outing in the ceme- 
tery. ‘‘ Pas gai!’’ says the Frenchwoman, and 
no wonder. 

When the sun commences to lower, they quit 
the cemetery of Bou-Kobrin and file in couples 
and trios and quartettes back to their homes in 
the narrow shut-in streets which huddle about 
the grim walls of the hilltop Kasba. They 
toddle and crawl and almost creep, as if they 





‘ : 


Blanche Me Ma RUS 





A Cemetery Gate 








The Great White City — Algiers 257 


feared entering their homes again; they have 
none of that proud, elastic, jaunty step of the 
Kabyle women or of the Bedouins of the 
‘‘ Great Tents; ’’ they are only poor unfortu- 
nate ‘‘ Arab women of the walls.’’ 

One after another these white-veiled pyra- 
mids of femininity disappear, burrowing down 
through some low-hung doorway, until finally 
their weekly outing is at an end and they are 
all encloistered until another seventh day rolls 
around. 

That these Mauresque women of Algiers are 
beautiful there is no doubt, but their beauty is 
of the qualified kind. The chief attribute to the 
beauty of the Mauresque woman is kohl or ko- 
hol or koheul, a marvellous preparation of sul- 
phur, of antimony of copper and of alum — and 
perhaps other things too numerous to mention, 
all of which is made into a paste and dotted 
about all over the face as beauty-spots. Some- 
times, too, they kalsomine the face with an 
enamel, like that on a medieval vase. Those 
of the social whirl elsewhere use a similar con- 
coction under another name which is sold by 
high-class chemists and perfumers, but they 
don’t let you know what it is made of, or at 
any rate, don’t take you into their confidence — 
neither the chemists nor the women. 


258 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


When a Mauresque dyes herself to the eyes 
with kohl, and dips her finger-tips in henna 
until they are juicy red, then she thinks she is 
about as ravishing as she can be im the eyes of 
God, her lover, and herself. She has to do this, 
she thinks, to keep her favour with him, because 
others might perchance put it on a little thicker 
and so displace her charms, and his affection. 

It is a belief among Mussulman women that 
Mahomet prescribed the usage of kohl, but this 
idea is probably born of the desire. Certainly 
no inspiration of God, nor the words of his 
prophet, ever suggested such a thing. 


CHAPTER XVI 


ALGIERS AND BEYOND 


To get into the interior back of Algiers, you 
make your start from Maison Carrée. Here 
one gets his first glimpse of the real country- 
side of Algeria. These visions of the Arab life 
of olden times are quite the most interesting 
features of the country. Civilization has crept 
in and rubbed shoulders very hard here and 
there; but still the Arab trader, workman, and 
shopkeeper conducts his affairs much as he did 
before he carried a dollar watch and lighted his 
cigarettes with safety matches. 

The kaleidoscopic life of the market at Mai- 
son Carrée is one of the sights of suburban Al- 
giers. Here on a vast, dusty down, packed 
everywhere with donkeys, mules and blooded 
Arabians, and there in a great enclosure con- 
taining three or five thousand sheep, is carried 
on as lively a bit of trading as one will observe 
anywhere outside a Norman horse-fair or a land 
sale on some newly opened reservation in the 
Far West. 

259 


260 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Horses, donkeys, mules, and sheep cry out in 
all the varied accents of their groans and bleat- 
ings, the sheep and their lambs, lying with their 
four feet tied together, complaining the loudest. 
Tundreds of Arabs, Kabyles, Turks, Jews, and 
Kuropeans bustle and rustle about in pictur- 
esque disorder, doing nothing apparently, but 
vociferating and grimacing. All sorts of foot- 
wear and head-gear are here, turbans, fezes, 
haiks, sandals, sabots, and espadrilles. Gay 
broidered vestments and dirty rent burnouses 
jostle each other at every step. 

Mutton is up or down to-day, a sheep may 
sell for eight franes or it may sell for twenty, 
and the buyer or seller is glad or sorry, he 
laughs, or he weeps,—but he smokes and 
drinks coffee at all times nevertheless. 

In a snug corner are corralled some Arab 
steers and cows, a rare sight even in the mar- 
kets of Algiers. One eats mutton all the time 
and everywhere, but seldom beef. The butchers 
of Algiers corner it for the milords and mil- 
lionaires of the Mustapha hotel, who demand 
‘‘ underdone ’’ beefsteaks and ‘‘ blood-run- 
ning ’’ roasts of beef for breakfast, dinner, and 
supper. 

An Arabian horse, so-called, but not a 
blooded beast, sells here for from eighty to two 


Algiers and Beyond 261 


hundred franes. High-priced stock is rare here, 
hence there is little horse-trading of the swin- 
dling variety, and no horse thieving. The Arab 
maquignons, dressed in half European and half 
desert fashion, bowler hats and a burnous, san- 
dals and bright blue socks with red clocks on 
them, are, however, more insistent, if possible, 
than their brothers of Brittany. 

‘¢ You want to buy a horse, un chiv’l? ’’ says 
a greasy-looking blackamoor. ‘‘ Mot, 2’en con- 
naie-un, 130 francs, mats 274 peux ti Vavotr pour 
95.’’ You don’t want to buy a horse, of course, 
but you ask its age. “* Mov, si te sure, neuf ou 
dix ans peut-étre — douze ans, mais ze, ze le 
connais, il trotte comme la gazelle.’’ It’s all 
very vague, including the French, and you get 
away as soon as you ean, glad at any rate that 
you have lost neither time nor money. 

All the trading of the Arab market is, as the 
French say, pushed to the limit. Merchandiz- 
ing describes the process, and describes it well. 
A hundred sous, a piéce only, refused or of- 
fered, will make or break a bargain almost on 
the eve of being concluded. 

An Arab trader in — well, everything — has 
just sold half a ton of coal to a farmer living 
a dozen kilometres out in the country. The 
farmer bought it ‘‘ delivered,’’ and the Arab 


262 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


coal merchant of the moment bargains with a 
Camel Sheik for fifty sous to deliver the sooty 
charge by means of three camels. Three cam- 
els, twenty-four kilometres (a day’s journey 
out and back), and a driver costs fifty sous, two 
frances and a half, a half a dollar. It’s a better 
bargain than you could make, and you marvel 
at it. 

A troop of little donkeys comes trotting up 
the hillside to the market, loaded with grain, 
dates, peanuts, and some skinny fowls and 
ducks. They have ‘‘ dog-trotted ’’ in from Ro- 
vigo, thirty kilometres distant, and they will 
trot back again as lively after breakfast, their 
owner beating them over the flanks all the way. 
Poor, patient, clever little beasts, docile, but 
not willing! Yes, not willing; a donkey is 
never willing, whatever land he may live in. 

Booths and tents line the sides of the great 
square, filled with the gimcrack novelties of 
England, France, Germany, and America, — 
and the more exotic folderols of Algeria, Tu- 
nisia, and Morocco. Jews sell calico, and Turks 
and Greeks sell fraudulent gold and silver jew- 
elry and coral beads made of glass melted in 
a crucible. Merchandise of all sorts and of all 
values is spread on the bare ground. A pair 
of boxing gloves, an automobile horn, a sword 


Algiers and Beyond 263 


with a broken blade, and all kinds of trumpery 
rubbish cast off from another world are here; 
and before night somebody will be found to buy 
even the boxing-gloves. 

Kuropeans, too, are stall-holders in this great 
rag-fair. Spaniards and Maltese are in the 
greatest proportions, and the only Frenchmen 
one sees are the strolling gendarmes poking 
about everywhere. 

Noon comes, and everybody with a soul above 
trade repairs to a restaurant of the middle class 
near by, a great marble hall fitted with marble 
top tables. Here every one lunches with a great 
deal of gesticulation and clamour. It is very 
primitive, this Algerian quick-lunch, but it is 
cleanly and the food is good. For twenty-five 
sous you may have a bouwillabaisse, a dish of 
petits pois, two eufs a la coque, goat’s-milk 
cheese, some biscuits and fruit for dessert, a 
half-bottle of wine and café et kirsch. Not so 
_ bad, is it? 

‘‘The better one knows Algeria,’’ says the 
brigadier of gendarmes, or the lieutenant in 
some army bivouae, ‘‘ the less one knows the 
Arab.’’ The point of view is traditional. The 
serenity and taciturn manner of the Arab is 
only to be likened to that of the Celestial Wong 
Hop or Ah Sin. What the Arab thinks about, 


264 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


and what he is likely to do next no one knows, 
or can even conjecture with any degree of cer- 
tainty. All one can do is to jump at conclusions 
and see what happens — to himself or the Arab. 

When the Duc d’Aumale conquered Biskra, 
the Arabs promptly retook it, practically, if not 
officially, and gave themselves up to such aban- 
doned orgies that not even the military authori- 
ties could make them tractable. The authorities 
at Paris were at their wits’ ends how to win the 
hearts of the Arabs, and conquer them morally 
as well as physically. Louis-Philippe made a 
shrewd guess and sent Robert Houdin, the 
prestidigitateur, down into the desert. From 
that time on the Arab of Algeria has been the 
tractable servant of the French. 

Straight south from Maison Carrée, across 
the Mitidja, eighteen kilometres more or less, 
lies Arba, the beginning of the real open coun- 
try. A steam-tram goes on ten kilometres far- 
ther, to Rovigo. At Arba, however, the 
‘‘ Route Nationale’’ to the desert’s edge 
branches off via Aumale to Bou-Saada and be- 
yond, where the real desert opens out into the 
infinite mirage. 

The nearest the camel caravans of the desert 
ever get to Algiers is at this little market town 
of Arba. Here on a market day (Wednesday) 


Algiers and Beyond 265 


may be seen a few stray, mangy specimens of 
the type loaded with grapes, figs, or dates, 
though usually the bourriquet, or donkey, is the 
beast of burden. The Arab never carries his 
burdens himself, as do other peasants. It is 
beneath his dignity; for no matter how ragged 
or rusty he is, his burnous is sacred from all 
wear and tear possible to be avoided. 

Except for its great market back of its mod- 
ern ugly mosque, there is not much to see in 
Arba. Here is even a more heterogeneous na- 
tive riffraff than one sees at Maison Carrée, 
Blida, or Boufarik. And indeed it is all ‘‘ na- 
tive,’’ for the Turks and Jews of the coast 
towns are absent. The trading is all done in 
produce. And if the native merchant, in his lit- 
tle shop or stall where he sells foreign-made 
clothes and gimeracks, cannot sell for cash, he 
is willing to barter for a sack of grain or a few 
sheep or some goat skins. The Jew trader will 
not bother with this kind of traffic. He wants 
to deal for cash, either as buyer or seller, he 
doesn’t care which. 

Here a native shoemaker, or rather maker of 
babouches, sits beneath a rude shelter and fash- 
ions fat, tubby slippers out of dingy skins and 
sole leather with the fur left on. On another 
side is a sweetmeat seller, a baker of honey 


266 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


cakes, and a vegetable dealer, and even a 
butcher, who tries to lead his Mussulman 
brother astray and get him to become a carniv- 
orous animal like us Christians. He doesn’t 
sueceed very well, because the Arab eats very 
little meat. 

In a tent, beneath a great palm, sits the phy- 
sician and dentist of the tribe, with all his para- 
phernalia of philters and potions and tooth- 
pulling appliances. Like the rest of us, the 
Arab suffers from toothache sometimes; and 
he wastes no time but goes and ‘‘ has it out ”’ 
at the first opportunity. The procedure of the 
Arab tooth-puller is no more barbaric than our 
own, and the possessor of the refractory molar 
has an equally hard time. All these things and 
more one sees at Arba’s weekly market. It is 
all very strange and amusing. 

Aumale is nearly a hundred kilometres be- 
yond Arba, with nothing between except occa- 
sional settlements of a few score of Europeans 
and a few hundreds of Arabs. Communication 
with Algiers from Aumale is by a crazy, rock- 
ing seven-horse diligence which covers the 
ground, by night as often as by day, in nine or 
ten hours, at a gait of six or seven miles an 
hour, and at a eost of as many francs. 

Aumale is nothing but the administrative 


Algiers and Beyond 267 


centre of a commune blessed with two good 
enough inns and a long, straight main street 
running from end to end. As the Auzia of the 
Romans, it was formerly occupied by a strong 
garrison. The Turks in turn built a fortress 
on the same site, and the French occupied it as 
a military post in 1846, giving it a second bap- 
tism in the name of the Duc d’Aumale, the son 
of Louis-Philippe. 

From Aumale on to Bou-Saada is another 
hundred and twenty-four kilometres over a 
new-made ‘‘ Route Nationale.’’ It is a good 
enough road for a diligence, which makes the 
journey in sixteen or eighteen hours, including 
stops. There is no accommodation en route 
save that furnished by the government bordjs, 
the caravanserai and the café-maures. 

Here, at last, one is launched into the desert 
itself. The journey is one of strange, impress- 
ive novelty, though nothing very venturesome. 
In case of a prolonged breakdown, there is 
nothing to do but to drink the water of the redir 
(a sort of a natural pool reservoir hollowed out 
of the rock), and be thankful indeed if your 
eurled-up Arab travelling companion will share 
his crust with you. To him white bread, if only 
soaked in water, is a great luxury; to you it 
will seem pretty slim; but then we are overfed 


268 In the Land of Mosques and Minareis 


as a rule and an Arab dietary for a time will 
probably prove beneficial. The life of the no- 
mad Arab is a very full one, but it is not a very 
active nor luxurious one. 

Through wonderful ocean-like mirages and 
clouds of dust whirled up by the sirocco, a veri- 
table ‘‘ tourbillon de poussiére,’’ as Madame 
de Sévigné would have called it, we rolled off 
the last kilometres of our tiresome journey, just 
as the last rays of the blood-red sun were paling 
before the coming night. We arrived at Bon- 
Saada’s Hotel Bailly just as the last remnants 
of the table d’héte were. being cleared away, 
which, in this little border town, half civilized 
and half savage, means thrown into the streets 
to furnish food for chickens. How the inhabit- 
ant of the Algerian small town ever separates 
his own fowls from those of his neighbours 1s 
a great question, since they all run loose in the 
common feeding-ground of the open street. 

Bou-Saada is even of less importance than 
Aumale to the average person. But for the 
artist it is a paradise. It is not Tlemcen, it 
has no grand mosques; it is not Tunis, it has 
no great souks and bazaars; but it is quaintly 
native in every crooked street huddled around 
the military post and the hotels. The life of 





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Algiers and Beyond 269 


the leather and silver workers, and of the 
butcher, the baker and the seller of blankets 
and foodstuffs is, as yet, unspoiled and uncon- 
taminated with anything more worldly than oil- 
lamps. The conducted tourist has not yet 
reached Bou-Saada, and consequently the na- 
tive life of the place is all the more real. 

Here is an account of a café acquaintance 
made at Bou-Saada. Zorah-ben-Mohammed 
was a pretty girl, according to the standards of 
her people, with a laugh lke an hourt. She con- 
fessed to eighteen years, and it is probable that 
she owned no more. The rice powder and the 
maquillage were thick on her cheek, whilst the 
rest of her face was frankly ochre. For all that 
she was a pretty girl and came perilously near 
convincing us of it, though hers was a beauty 
far removed from our own preconceived stand- 
ards. 

Great black eyes and a massive coiffe of 
raven-black hair topped off her charms. Below 
she was clad in a corsage of gold-embroidered 
velvet and an ample silk pantalon that might 
indeed have been a skirt, so large and thick 
were its folds) Bijoux she had galore. They 
may have been of gold and silver and precious 
stones, or they may not; but they were pre- 


270 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


cious to her and added not a little to her graces. 
Bracelets bound her wrists and her ankles, and 
her finger-tips were dyed red with henna. 

Zora or Zorah Fatma, or in Arab, Fetouma, 
are the girlish names which most please their 
bearer, and our friend Zorah was a queen in 
her class. Zorah served the coffee in the little 
Moorish café in Bou-Saada’s market-place, into 
which we had tumbled to escape a sudden sand- 
storm blown in from the desert. Her powers 
of conversation were not great; she did not 
know many French words and we still fewer 
Arab ones, so our respective vocabularies were 
soon exhausted. We admired her and made 
remarks upon her,—which was what she 
wanted, and, though the charge for the coffee 
was only two sous a cup, she was artful enough 
to worm a pourboire of fifty centimes apiece 
out of us for the privilege of being served by 
her. | 

As we left, Zorah, with her professional little 
laugh on her lips, eried out, ‘‘ redoua, re- 
doua!’’ (to-morrow, to-morrow!) ‘‘ Well — 
perhaps! ’’ we answered. ‘* Peut-étre que out! 
Peut-étre que non! ”’ 

A visit to the marabout at El Hamel, fifteen 
kilometres from Bou-Saada, is one of the things 
to do. We descended upon him in his hermit 


Algiers and Beyond 271 


shrine, and found him seated on a great carpet 
of brilliant colouring and reclining on an enor- 
mous cushion of embroidered silk, — not the 
kind the Tunisian workers try to sell steam- 
ship-cruising tourists during their day on shore, 
but the real gold-embroidered, silky stuff, such 
as dressed the characters of the Arabian nights. 

Hung about the marabout’s neck was his 
chaplet of little ebony beads, and behind his 
head hung an embroidered silken square, its 
gold olive branches and fruit glittering with 
sun’s rays like an aureole. 

Grouped about the marabout in a squatting 
semicircle and listening to his holy words were 
a half-dozen or more faithful Mussulmans. 
One of them was very old, with a visage ridged 
like a melon rind, and a fringe of beard that 
once was probably black, but was now a scant 
gray collaret. His face was the colour of brown 
earth, but he was manifestly a pure blooded 
Arab; there was not even the telltale pearly- 
blue tint in the eyes which always marks the 
half-bred Berber-Arab type. Another, rolled 
snug in an old burnous, was by his side, his eyes 
quite closed and his head and body rocking as 
though he was asleep. He probably was. A 
third was younger, of perhaps three and thirty, 
but he was quite as devout as his elders, though 


272 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


he was more wide-awake, and looked curiously 
and interestedly upon us as we stood in the 
doorway of the little white temple of a sanctu- 
ary awaiting the time when the marabout 
should be free of his religious duties. 

Our visit was appreciated. We had brought 
the holy man a few simple gifts of chocolate, 
matches, and a couple of candles, and donated 
twenty copper sous to his future support. Af- 
ter the adieux of convention were exchanged, 
we jogged our little donkeys back to the town 
by a short cut through the bed of the Oued Bou- 
Saada. 


CHAPTER XVII 
KABYLIE AND THE KABYLES 


Kasy ig is a wild, strange land known to few 
and peopled by many, though indeed the pop- 
ulation is mostly native. Colonization has not 
made great inroads into the mountains of 
Grande and Petite Kabylie. And though the 
tract is contiguous to Algiers itself, few stran- 
ger tourists know it as anything more than a 
name. Still less do they know its savage and 
undeveloped beauties. 

The Algerian government has pushed a great 
‘‘ Route Nationale ’’ through the heart of the 
mountains, and Tizi-Ouzou and Fort National 
have grown up into more or less important cen- 
tres of Kuropean civilization; but in the main 
the aspect is as much Kabyle to-day as it was 
when this pure Berber race — the purest left 
in North Africa — first began to make its influ- 
ence felt among the many tribes of the Medi- 
terranean coast and the Sahara. 

The mountain villages of Kabylie are not 
mere nests of huddled shacks, nor groups of 

273 


274 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


tents, nor ‘‘ lean-tos,’’ nor mud huts. They are 
of well-built houses, with sloping or flat stone 
roofs, and look like the little hamlets of the 
Pyrenees or the Cevennes in France, where the 
rude winters have taught men to build after a 
certain fashion in order to live comfortably. 
The Kabyles early learned the same way of do- 
ing things; for, in spite of the fact that the 
brilliant African sun sometimes burns, even in 
midwinter, with a fervour unknown elsewhere, 
the mountain-tops are snow-covered for three 
or four months of the year; and the roads over 
which the daily antediluvian mail-coach and 
diligence pass — with occasionally an intrepid 
automobilist — are often impassable for a 
week. 

The railway does not penetrate this mountain 
fastness beyond Tizi-Ouzou, and though it 
skirts the sunny southern side of the woods, 
the snows of winter blocked it last year for 
forty-eight hours. And this in Africa! If the 
exterior of the Kabyle mountain villages do 
resemble those of other lands, their interiors 
have a style of furnishing and decoration all 
their own. Purely Kabyle, it is wonderfully 
decorative, simple, and effective. It is the art- 
ist’s ideal interior, as the illustration herewith 
shows. The decorative scheme is its all in all. 


Kabylie and the Kabyles es 


There is little furniture, almost no bibelots, 
if one omits goat-skin rugs, blankets, and the 
homely pottery and copper domestic utensils. 

From Fort National the route leads down to 
meet the trunk line at Beni-Mancour, and en 
route takes on even a wilder aspect than that 
by which one ascended from the seaboard plain 
around Algiers. The journey can be made 
readily in a day by hired carriage, or, better 
yet, in a few hours by automobile. 

From either side extend mountain valleys 
and ravines, each of them giving place to 
a road of sorts, practicable to the mountain 
mule, but to nothing else, save a human being 
on foot. If one would do some real exploring, 
let him spend ten days in Kabyle. He will 
think he is in the ‘‘ Forbidden Land ”’ of Tibet 
so far as intercourse with the outside world is 
concerned. 

Footprints of the naked feet of men and 
women, and of the cloven hoofs of animals, will 
be the only signs of life visible for hours at 
a time. Yet in spite of the fact that the land 
is so wild and dreary, it is the most thickly pop- 
ulated region of Northern Africa. The braying 
of donkeys, the voices of women, the cries of 
children, and the gutturals of the men give, if 
not a melody, at least a quaint and charming 


276 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


sound as one draws up on some hilltop Kabyle 
village. <A flock of sheep bars the way, but an 
old woman with a stick pounds them hither and 
thither with head-cracking blows, and at last 
you arrive before the open door of a native 
eafé and bargain with a soft-faced brown Ka- 
byle youth for a bourriquet to take you twenty 
kilometres farther on, where you may find a 
lodging for the night. 

You must bargain, wherever you are, and for 
whatever you want, in Africa; even with the 
Kabyle. Once your bargain made, — three 
franes for a little donkey for a day, or five, 
including his owner for a guide, — you need 
have no fear. The Kabyle will hold to it like 
grim death. The Kabyle is a savage if you like, 
but his virtues are many. 

The Kabyle villages abound in dogs. They 
may not be vicious dogs, but you don’t know 
whether they are or not, and accordingly are 
wary. The Kabyle dogs have all shades of 
pitch and gamut in their voices. There are 
tenors, baritones, and even sopranos, and an 
occasional bass. If a solitary example is met 
with on a by-road he is readily made to re- 
treat with a shower of stones; but as he is 
liable to catch up with you later, accompanied 
by reinforcements, as you draw up on the 


Kabylie and the Kabyles 2nT. 


village, you must ever be on the qui vive. 
No one ever heard of anybody but a sheep- 
stealer having been bitten by a Kabyle dog 
(which, by the way, looks like any other mon- 
grel cur): but discretion here, as in many other 
tight corners, is the chief part of valour. ‘‘ De 
W’audace, encore de l’audace et toujours de l’au- 
dace!’’ is a stimulating French slogan, but one 
is in doubt about putting it into practice with 
a grinning, long-fanged mongrel before him on 
a lone mountain road. 

The Kabyles are one division of that great 
race of Berbers, the most ancient dwellers on 
African soil. They have kept the type com- 
paratively pure by inhabiting this restricted 
area closely bordering upon the Atlas Moun- 
tains a dozen or twenty leagues from the sea. 
‘< They are,’’ says M. Jules Duval, ‘‘ the prin- 
cipal types of the Berber race, and those who 
have best conserved their ancestral character- 
istics, and are perhaps the Numidians of old.’’ 
That is a pedigree worth owning up to. Brave 
and industrious, the Kabyles can fight as well 
as bargain, and they value patriotism and an- 
eestral tradition above everything else. 

Of all the Mussulman races, the Kabyles 
treat their women with the greatest deference, 
and even allow them to frequent public fétes, 


278 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


faces uncovered, and to dance with the men, 
yatagan or gun in hand. 

The Kabyle is successful ii whatever occu- 
pation he follows, more so than any of his Mus- 
sulman brothers. As herders, farmers, ar- 
mourers, blacksmiths, and masons, — at every- 
thing in fact that requires an aptitude and deft- 
ness of hand, — they excel. 

When in straits the Kabyle will sell all his 
worldly goods, save his gun, without the slight- 
est trace of emotion. Perhaps this is because 
his gun is the only thing on which he pays 
taxes and accordingly he knows its value. 

It is said of the Kabyles that they eat their 
daughters. ‘‘ Le pére mange sa fille.’’ This 
comes from the custom which some of the Ka- 
byle tribes have of bartering off the hand of 
their daughter to the most willing suitor at a 
price ranging from two hundred to a thousand 
francs. There’s nothing very wrong about 
this, seemingly, not according to African stand- 
ards. 

The Kabyle and his relatives in their little 
square house live the life of a truly happy fam- 
ily. He and his relatives and his live stock — 
except his camels, the odour from which is a 
little too strong for even Kabyle nostrils — all 
living together under the same roof. There is 


Kabylie and the Kabyles 279 


no more squalor about it, however, than one 
may see in the human and pig-inhabited huts 
of Connemara. 

The Kabyle comes of a comparatively 
wealthy class, but his house furnishings are 
very meagre. Besides the animals before men- 
tioned, he possesses only his batterie de cuisine, 
some great oil jars and earthenware pots for 
the storing away of olives, butter and honey. 
He also has a storehouse for grain, where he 
keeps his wheat or maize flour, which he or the 
members of his family have themselves ground 
between the traditional upper and nether mill- 
stones, which in this case are portable ones. 

Such is a brief inventory of the dwellings 
and the round of life of the Kabyles of the 
mountain villages, founded by their ancestors 
hundreds and perhaps thousands of years ago. 
Some of their race have got the wandering foot, 
and live in the pastoral black and brown striped 
tent like the real nomads; but these are com- 
paratively few in number. The real, Simon- 
pure Kabyle is a house-dweller. 

The Kabyle mountain settlements are often 
mere hamlets called dehera, and in these the 
village schoolmaster, besides having his own 
duties, also performs the functions of priest 
of the temple. He is literally the wmam of the 


280 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


SO i NN A a NE Rd 


mosque, and carries out according to his faith 
the monotonous repetition of the words of the 
Koran when not otherwise engaged. Every 
Kabyle village has its temples of knowledge 
and of religion, just as sure as it has a heads- 
man or Sheik. The mosque is naturally the 
most notable edifice of the settlement; but is 
seldom splendid or pretentious, and often it 
serves as a hostelry as well as a place of wor- 
ship. But only for the faithful — not for dogs 
of infidels. 

Though the Kabyles in general are not tent- 
dwellers, but live in houses of stone or brick 
construction, these edifices exhibit no particu- 
lar architectural characteristics; but are as 
much like the dwellings of the Pueblos as they 
are like those of the Thibetans. To all intents 
and purposes the towns and settlements and, in 
a measure, all Kabyle houses, are fortresses. 
This is an effect which is heightened by the 
almost universal employment of substitutes for 
the crenelated battlement and meurtriéres or 
loopholes, cut in the walls in place of windows, 
so distinctive of European feudal architecture. 

Just by way of contrast to the virtues of the 
Kabyles, it is bound to be recorded that they 
are the dirtiest lot that one finds in Africa; 
and inasmuch as this is contrary to the tenets 


Kabylie and the Kabyles 281 


of the Mussulman religion it is the more to be 
remarked. Up to within a few years, accord- 
ing to the head of a French mission which sur- 
veyed the Kabyle country, there was but one 
public bath establishment to be found in all 
their native towns and villages. The result is 
that hereditary affections are transmitted from 
generation to generation, and were it not for 
the efficacy of the open-air cure the Kabyles 
would be a considerably less long-lived race 
than they are. 

The Kabyles live well at all events, and their 
couscous 1s renowned throughout all Algeria. 
Their preserved figs and ripe and unripe olives 
are of the first quality and bring the highest 
prices in the markets of Algiers, Bougie or 
Beni-Mancour. The Kabyle is no longer a sav- 
age, though he does stick closely to many tra- 
ditions, and eats his couscous out of a great 
dish of beechwood fashioned by hand from a 
cross-section cut from a tree-trunk. The mere 
fact that he eats it from a plate at all, instead 
of from a pot, indicates, however, an approach- 
ing degree of civilization. 

The Kabyle is primarily a tiller of the soil 
and a herder of goats and sheep. And when 
education was thrust upon him, or rather upon 
his children, by a progressive French govern- 


282 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


ment, he resented it. He had cut out an illit- 
erate career for his progeny; he didn’t care if 
they weren’t educated, nor did they. 

He explained it all to the writer in a Moor- 
ish café one afternoon, in a patois something 
like the following, — it’s a queer thing, Arab- 
French, but it’s as good as that of most for- 
eleners nevertheless. 

“* Sil Beylick fasir, fic toutes lis enfants dis 
mitres d’icole, qu’ist-ce qui travaljar la tirre 
... gwrist-ce qui gardi lis chévres, lis motons, 
lis vaches?’’ Who indeed will guard his goats 
and sheep if the children all go to school! The 
old man probably will have to work himself. 

The new generation is changing, but the old- 
school Kabyle is as conservative as a ‘‘ down- 
east farmer,’’ a ‘‘ Yorkshireman,’’ or a “* bon 
Provenceau.”’ 

The Kabyles are the Piedmontese or Au- 
vergnats of Algeria. An indigenous race which 
has resisted better than any other the march 
of progress. They have, too, certain other for- 
eign characteristics. One wonders how they 
got them. They practise the vendetta, like the 
Corsican; they have the landesgemeinde, as in 
certain of the Swiss cantons; and they have 
cock-fights like the Spaniards. They are a very 
curious race of people, but they are becoming 


Kabylie and the Kabyles 283 


enlightened, and rank among the most loyal 
towards the new French government of all the 
tribes of Algeria. 

The Kabyle has fought for France, and 
fought well. The first zouaves were Kabyles, 
—the name comes from Zouaoua, a Kabyle 
tribe. General Clauzel enrolled a company of 
them in 1831, and taught them what, he was 
pleased at the time to think, was civilized war- 
fare. Doubtless it was, as civilized as any war- 
fare, which is not saying much for it. This 
new type of soldier, the zouave, has endured to 
this day in France and elsewhere, and a very 
practical, businesslike soldier he has proved. 

The Kabyle women jingle with bijoux and 
scintillate with yards of ribbons and flying 
draperies, and a strong scented perfume ema- 
nates from them with an odour of sanctity, al- 
most, so strange and exotic is it. They know 
the difficult art of elegance — these mountain 
women of Kabylie—better than their more 
fashionable sisters. Not all the science of the 
couturiére or the modiste can give a tithe of the 
grace borne naturally by these half-savage Ka- 
byle beauties. The Jewesses of Algiers and 
Tunis have a certain, if crude, voluptuous ele- 
gance, which is an adulteration of civilization 
and savagery; but the Kabyle woman, beneath 


284 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


her draperies and her bijoux, expresses some- 
thing quite different. Cleopatra might well 
have been one of them. Their natural graces 
and their bijoux are the details which set off 
their charms so splendidly. The cross-breed- 
ing of the Berber with the Arab has no doubt 
debased the race somewhat. This is mostly 
among the men and the women who dwell in 
the towns. 

Apparently these Kabyle women are not co- 
quettes, though they smile, always, with their 
pearly teeth, rouge-red lips, and flashing eyes, 
bespeaking the sensuality of a land and its cus- 
toms entirely foreign to European civilization. 
Of beauty they have little according to other 
standards, although their features are not 
erude or unlovely. Rather is theirs the beauty 
of a high-bred animal, or the sculptured bronze 
ideal replica of a race. They are types of a 
species and are delightful to look upon, alike in 
face and figure. 

The Kabyle jewelry is something to be cov- 
eted by every woman. It can be bought — even 
in the bazaars and souks of Algiers and Tunis 
—at its weight for old silver. But the buying 
of it is an art, and one must beware of not get- 
ting dross or something made in Birmingham 
or Solingen. The genuine old stone or coral- 


Kabylie and the Kabyles 285 


set enamelled Kabyle bracelets and necklaces 
are becoming rarer, and the imitation ones 





SEEN 
IN KABYLIE, 
B.McM.. O7, 


Things Seen in Kabylie 


more and more common. Still, in any aspect, 
the designs are beautiful, and far and away 
ahead of the aberrations of mind which pro- 
duce the art-nouveau jewelry of Bond Street 


286 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


or of the Rue de la Paix. Sometimes instead 
of silver a substitute of dull, unburnished white 
metal, — pewter most probably,—is used in 
the settings of these bizarre ornaments, and 
even then the effect is charming. 

The Kabyles have ever been fond of coral, 
which, from the earliest times, they gathered 
from the sea, cutting and polishing the frag- 
ments as if they were precious stones. Coral 
is fast disappearing from the African coast, as 
elsewhere in the Mediterranean, wherever the 
Itahans have exploited the commerce, and the 
rosy, translucent branches of old are now more 
often replaced with the inferior dead coral of 
a yellowish white or even reddish brown colour. 
Unless indeed celluloid imitations are not used 
instead. 

Sea shells, too, enter into the make-up of 
the adornments of the Kabyle woman. 

The metal work, be it gold, silver, or pewter 
and antimony, is invariably hand-forged, with 
the loving marks of the hammer still visible. 
This rough erudity is its charm, for the intrin- 
sic value as a rule is not great. It looks high 
at fifty franes (a collaret of three or four bands 
strung together on a silver wire, with a clasp 
the size of a half-dollar), but when, by the clas- 
sic process of Arab or Berber bargaining, you 


Kabylie and the Kabyles 287 


get the same thing for ten francs, it is really 
trés bon marche. 

Grande and Petite Kabylie, the Kabylie du 
Djurjura and the Kabylie des Babors, is not 
thickly strewn with Frenchified towns and cit- 
ies. On the coast there are Dellys, an incipient 
seaport. Bougie, the ancient Saldae, where a 
colony of veterans was established by the great 
Augustus, but now a growing seaport with half 
of its fifteen thousand population French. 
Djidjelli, a hundred kilometres east of Bougie 
by a wonderful coast road, was the ancient col- 
ony of Igilgili of Augustus. Collo is an Ital- 
ianized fishing village; Beni-Mancour, a flour- 
ishing small town to-day, but formerly a simple 
bord); or halting-place on the main caravan 
route from east to west; and Setif, the chef 
leu, contains a mixed population of 15,000, of 
which a quarter part are Europeans and 1,600 
Jews. 

These commercial centres, and a half a dozen 
smaller places, are the only points where the 
traveller by road or rail will find any approach 
to European comforts in all Kabylie, excepting 
at Tizi-Ouzou and Fort National on the branch 
road from Beni-Mancour to Bougie. 

Tizi-Ouzou is the centre of a Kabyle popu- 
lation which figures out a hundred and ten souls 


288 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


to the square kilometre. Its name signifies 
‘‘ Col des Genets,’’ and it occupies the site of 
an old bord) or rest-house of former days. 

Four hours of diligence — which costs four 
franes — carries one from Tizi-Ouzou to Fort 
National, at any time of the year between April 
and December; at other times the pass of Ti- 
rourda may be snow-covered, and you may be- 
come stalled for hours or even days. Fort 
National, in the heart of Grande Kabylie, is a 
erim, modern fortress, perched on the highest 
peak of the Algerian mountain range parallel- 
ing the coast. It is only interesting from a 
grim picturesque point of view. The citadel 
crowns a height a thousand metres above sea- 
level, and from its terrace unfolds a remark- 
able panorama of mountain-tops and valleys: 
‘¢ Incipient mountain chains stretching out in 
all directions like the arms of an octopus,’’ a 
Frenchman described these topographical fea- 
tures, and if you know what an octopus looks 
like you will be struck by the simile. Fort 
National is the best centre from which to make 
excursions into Kabylie, but you must come 
here in the spring or autumn for the purpose, 
not in winter or summer. 

Bougie is off the beaten track. To get there 
one must break his journey going from Algiers 


Kabylie and the Kabyles 289 


to Biskra, Constantine or Tunis at Beni-Man- 
cour. Bougie is a coast town, and one of the 
terminals of the steamship lines from Mar- 
seilles. Because tourists go and come via Al- 
giers, or via Algiers and Tunis or vice versa, 
Bougie is not known of all travellers in North 
Africa. This is where they make a mistake. 
Bougie is the most splendidly situated of all 
the African Mediterranean ports. Its points 
of view and panoramas are ready-made for the 
artists to jot them down in crude paint on dull 
canvas — if they can. The most one ean do is 
to try. And Bougie, its glistening white-walled 
houses, its shore-line, its sky-line, and its back- 
ground of cliff are motifs which will fascinate 
all who view it, whether for the first or last 
time. 

All the same Bougie has little enough of in- 
terest for the conventional tourist. The native 
quarter is not remarkable, the mosque is a mod- 
ern affair, though on good old lines, and the 
native market, if curious, does not equal those 
of Blida, Boufarik, or Constantine. 

It is the site of Bougie, and its environs, that 
make its charms. If its hotels were not poor 
patterns of those of the pompous préfectures 
in France it would really be a delightful sea- 
side resort. 


290 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


There are some Roman ruins of the days of 
Augustus still remaining, some fragmentary 
fortifications, and some great cistern vaults. 
Bougie’s past was historic, for it was one day 
the capital of an independent state. The Span- 
iards came and destroyed its independence 
through the wiles of Pedro Navarro, who built 
Algiers’ Pefion. Charles V sojourned here for 
a time, basking under African skies, in 1541. 
That is all of Bougie’s romance. 


CHAPTER XVIII 
CONSTANTINE AND THE GORGE DU RUMMEL 


CoNSTANTINE 1s one of the natural citadels 
of the world. Hitherto we had only known it 
by name, and that chiefly by the contemplation 
of Vernet’s ‘‘ Siege de Constantine,’’ in that 
artistic graveyard, the Musée de Versailles. 

The bizarre splendour of the site now occu- 
pied by the bustling Algerian metropolis of 
Constantine struck us very forcibly as we rolled 
over its great gorge just at sundown on a ruddy 
autumn evening. It is all grandly theatrical, 
but it is very real nevertheless. A great deal 
more real than one would believe as he viewed 
that hodge-podge painting of Vernet’s. } 

The town sits high on a ravine-surrounded 
peak of bare rock, and were it to undergo a 
siege to-day, not even modern war-engines 
could reduce it till the dwellers had been 
starved out. 

The original settlement was very ancient 
long before the Romans of the time of Scipio, 

291 


292 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





who gave it its present name. Romans, Arabs, 
Vandals, and Turks all held it in turn until 
General Valée came in 1836 and drove the lat- 
ter out by strategy. Not by siege, as the 
painter has tried to make us believe. 

The great rock of Constantine is only at- 
tached to the surrounding country by a slim 
neck of land. Below les the Rummel, still cut- 
ting its bed deeper and deeper each year, until 
now a very canon is gouged out of the city’s 
rock foundation. The only communication be- 
tween the city and the surrounding plateau is 
by the Bridge of El Kantara, spectacularly pic- 
turesque, though not artistically beautiful, 
the successor of an old Roman bridge on the 
same site. 

Any who have marvelled at the Bridge of 
Ronda in Spain, and at the natural rock-bound 
fortress to which it leads, will observe its simi- 
larity to Constantine. Its rocky walls are im- 
preenable, though not untakable. Nothing but 
a continuous dynamite performance could blow 
up Constantine; to accomplish it would be to 
blow up a mountain. Nevertheless, the French 
captured the Mohammedan fortress at the time 
of the occupation — albeit at a great expendi- 
ture of time and loss of men. 

Centuries earlier than this, in Roman days, 


Constantine and Gorge du Rummel 293 





Sallust, governor of the province under Cesar, 
was a property owner here, and fortified the 
city that it might best protect his interests. 
With what success is seen by the fact that, 
though the fortress was besieged and taken 
eighty times, its garrison was always starved 
out; 1t was never blown up or battered down. 
The first glimpse of Constantine is confusing. 
It is difficult to separate its component parts; 
its historic picturesqueness from its matter-of- 
fact hurly-burly of commercial affairs. The 
houses seen from the railway appear common- 
place and uninteresting, only saved from sheer 
ugliness by their remarkable situation. The 
great gorge of the Rummel flows beneath 
the ugly iron bridge,—the successor of that 
more splendid work of the Romans, — and ugly 
trams, omnibuses, and carts rumble along 
where one pictures troops of camels and parti- 
coloured Arabs. Arabs there are at Constan- 
tine, of all shades, and Turks and Jews, of all 
sects, and when one is actually settled down 
in his hotel and starts out on a wandering, with 
the intention of focussing all these things into 
some definite impression, they begin to grow 
upon him, and Constantine begins to take rank 
with the liveliest of his imaginings and mem- 
ories, Constantine is a wonder, there is no 


294 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


doubt about that; but one must become ac- 
quainted with it intimately in order to love it. 
Constantine’s streets are running rivers of as 
mixed a crew of humanity as one may see out 
of Cairo, Constantinople, or Port Said. Tunis 
is its nearest ap- 
proach in the 
Moghreb. 

The main ar- 
tery of the Arab 
town is the Rue 
Perregaux. Here 
are the Moor- 
ish cafés, the 
mosques, the 
shops of the 
sweetmeat _ sell- 
ers, the vegetable 
dealers, the em- 
broiderers, and 
ei] the jewellers. 

ee R Ig it The Cirta of Ju- 
gurtha has _be- 

come the Constantine of to-day, but its medi- 
evalism still lives in spite of the contrast of a 
gaudy opera house, a bank, and an ‘‘ hétel-de- 
ville.’? The native quarter keeps well to itself, 
however; and modern improvements do not 






VA AR ET at 












RS 


tg 





A Constantine Mosque 





‘ 
t 





Constantine and Gorge du Rummel 295 


encroach upon its picturesque primitiveness as 
they do at Algiers. 

Beside its site and its bridge, Constantine’s 
monuments are not many or great. The chief 
one is the Mosque of Salah Bey, with its marble 
decorations chiselled out by the hand of the 
slave of an olden time. The cathedral of to- 
day is built up out of a transformed mosque, 
but shows, undefiled, its ancient Mauresque ar- 
cades and faiences. On the broidered mihrab, 
with inseriptions from the Koran woven in the 
woof, some well-meaning Christian has added 
a bleeding heart. Is this treating the original 
Mussulman owner right? It seems enough to 
make a Christian church out of a Mohamme- 
dan mosque, without trying to incorporate two 
opposing religious symbols in a mural decora- 
tion. 

The ancient palace of the Bey, — the last Bey 
of Constantine, Hadj-Ahmed,— though com- 
paratively modern, is a very interesting build- 
ing. This terrible Turk, the Bey, was a very 
terrible potentate indeed. He massacred and 
pillaged his own subjects. He would nail the 
hands and feet of a fancied offender to a tree, 
leaving him to die, and would sew up the 
mouths and manacle the hands of those who 
spoke ill of him. He held a big club always 


296 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


uplifted, and many other murderous imple- 
ments besides were ever in the air ready to 
fall. This palace of the Bey’s was in course of 
construction at the time the Turkish domina- 
tion fell. It had been built of porphyry and 
marble columns, and fine old tiles and seculp- 
tured balustrades, brought by rich merchants 
as presents to the Bey, under pain of imprison- 
ment should they default. It is a miniature 
Alhambra of courts within courts, and is really 
extraordinarily beautiful. It covers an area 
of over five thousand square metres. Under 
the guidance of a zouave with baggy red trou- 
sers and a fez dangling on the back of his head, 
we walked and circumnavigated all of the 
paved and orange-planted quadrangles, and 
quite believed we were living in the days gone 
by, in spite of the fact that tram-cars were 
passing by the door, and inconsiderate, wun- 
churchly chimes were ringing out ribald airs 
from the neighbouring cathedral tower. 

On the whole the old Beylical palace of Con- 
stantine is far more elaborate and interesting 
than the Dar-el-Bey at Tunis — or the Bardo, 
usually reckoned the chief tourist sights of 
their class. It all depends on the mood, of 
course, but then we had the mood. 

Some of the frescoes of this palace of Turk- 


Constantine and Gorge du Rummel 297 


ish dominion are most curious. One of them, 
painted in the most crude and infantile manner, 
is inexplicable except for the following legend. 

A ‘‘dog of a Christian slave ’’—as his 
Turkish master called him—was set at the 
task. He knew nothing of art, but that did not 
matter to the domineering Turk, who said that 
‘Call Frenchmen were born artists.’’ The 
frieze was completed, as it may be seen to-day, 
and the artist (?) stood before his workmanship 
in fear and trembling, dreading his master’s 
wrath. The wrath was not forthcoming. His 
Beyship liked the frieze of birds as big as 
houses, of ships and frogs all of a size, of cows 
the size of mosques, and all the other fantasies 
of an untrained hand and brain. ‘‘ I told you,’’ 
said the Bey, ‘‘ all these dogs of Frenchmen 
know how to paint; ’’ and with that he set him 
free. All potentates have their vagaries. Had}- 
Ahmed’s were no greater and no worse than 
the present German Emperor’s, which have 
permitted, if not commanded, political portraits 
to be sculptured on the portals of a Christian 
church. 

Constantine is unique. It isa city as live and 
bustling as any of its size on earth. It is under- 
going a great development. Everybody is 
prosperous and contented. And, above all, it 


298 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


is historic, and its native quarter unspoiled in 
spite of the city’s great attempts to become 
a commercial metropolis. 

Constantine is the gateway to a vast and 
wealthy grain-growing region, and it sits high 
and proud on the great central plateau of AI- 
geria between the desert and the sea. Prac- 
tically it is the sole gateway or means of com- 
munication through which passes a great pro- 
portion of all the life and movement of the 
great province of which it is the capital. Con- 
trastingly Constantine’s magnificently theat- 
rieal site gives entirely another view-point for 
the stranger within its gates. The great gorge 
of the Rummel cuts the city entirely off from 
the surrounding plateau by a thousand foot 
chasm, where the gathered waters of the plain 
roll and thunder with such regularity and force 
that the steep sides are cut sheer as if by the 
quarryman’s drill. Constantine’s Arab town, 
too, is entirely a unique thing. It is complete, 
unspoiled, and genuine. It sits off at one side 
of the European town, sloping down towards 
the steep brink of the gorge, and is entirely 
uncontaminated with the contemporary life of 
the French. Its colouring is marvellous; and 
the comings and goings, and the daily affairs, 
of its Arab merchants and traders lend a charm 





Wy eto i 


@ ~~ 





Constantine and Gorge du Rummel 299 


of antiquity which not even the realization of 
the fact that we are living in the twentieth cen- 
tury can wholly spoil. The Kabyle with his 
skins of oil, the Berber with his wool and leath- 
ers, and the town-bred Arab — half Turk, half 
Jew — occupying himself with all sorts of 
trading, give a local colour rich and unmixed, 
such as one finds nowhere else in the East, — 
either at Algiers, Tunis, Cairo, or Constantino- 
ple. What is lacking is mere size and gran- 
deur, — the rest is all there. And the Moorish 
cafés and the sweetmeat and pastry sellers’ 
shops of Constantine’s Arab town, visited on 
the eve of Ramadan, give such a variety of 
surprises that no one who has once seen them 
ean ever forget them. 

To return to the great scenic charm of Con- 
stantine; it must be seen and familiarized. As 
a mere gorge it is no more wonderful than 
dozens of others, — in the Rockies in America; 
in the Tarn, or the Gorges du Loup, in the 
Maures. What the Gorge du Rummel stands 
for is that it is, and has been for ages, the chief 
defence of the great city of Constantine, and 
for that reason it appeals more strongly than 
any other of its kind. 

Before entering the narrow chasm which ren- 
ders the position of Constantine, ‘‘ la ville aéri- 


300 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


enne,’’ well-nigh impregnable, the Rummel, or 
Riviére des Sables, has joined forces with the 
Boumezou, the river which fertilizes. 

The change is sudden from the sunny valley 
to the dark Passage des Roches. The torrent, 
suddenly narrowed, passes close to a hot spring 
spurting forth from a cleft in the rock, then 
flowing through the arch of the Devil’s Bridge 
and tumbling in cascades through the winding 
chasm or ravine. 

From the edge of the abyss one cannot see 
the stream which is hidden by the curves of 
the ravine; the projecting strata of rock fur- 
rowed at frequent intervals by vertical water- 
worn clefts even prevent one from seeing the 
bottom. 

Just below the rock bridge of El] Kantara 
(that of to-day being a reconstruction of the 
Roman work), the Rummel disappears beneath 
a vault of rock. The ravine here is only a nar- 
row trench, torn and pierced by underground 
passages, from the bottom of which rises the 
sound of rushing waters. Three hundred me- 
tres beyond, the torrent emerges from these 
dark galleries and on both sides the cltffs rise 
vertically. A single isolated arch, naturally 
ogival and singularly regular in form, still 
uniting the two walls of rock. 


Constantine and Gorge du Rummel 301 


Here the irregularities and rents in the 
earth’s surface are the most imposing; the 
walls of variously coloured rock here and there 
overhang and rise to a height of over 200 me- 
tres, giving a perilous foothold to the buildings 
of the town above. At this apex of the island 
city above is the Kef Cnecora or Rocher du 
Lae, from which an old-time pacha threw down 
his recalcitrant wives sewn up in sacks, quite 
after the conventional manner of the day, one 
thinks. Yes, but here they had an awful drop, 
and fell not always on the soft watery bed of 
the river, but on the pointed, jagged rocks of 
the rapids. Theirs must have been an awful 
death! 

Years ago access to the ravine was entirely 
impracticable; but since an intrepid engineer 
with a ninety-nine year concession has built 
rock ladders and bridges along its whole length 
—and charges two francs to cross them — the 
experience of making this semisubterranean 
tour of Constantine is within reach of every- 
body. 

One day at Constantine a discordant rum- 
bling of voices in the street below attracted us 
to the windows of our hotel. A strange, con- 
glomerate procession of Mussulman faithful 
was marching by. Hundreds of brown Arab 


302 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


folk, Kabyles, Moors, and nomads from the 
south, were marching hand in hand, each with 
a flower behind his right ear, and all shouting 
at the top of their voices. A funeral proces- 
sion had passed but a few moments before, and 





SV rf) t ; 
r Sy yy , ‘ ' y 
f a ‘en : Bx ak ‘i 


we thought it a part of the same ceremony, 
though indeed, as we learned later, it was some- 
thing quite different. 

The few straggling hundreds of the head of 
the procession soon grew into thousands, all 
chanting verses of the Koran. Following close 
eame the gaily coloured green, white, and red 
flag of the Prophet. 


Constantine and Gorge du Rummel 303 


We followed in the wake of the procession 
and at the end of the town came to the Mussul- 
man cemetery. There is no remarkable sad- 
ness or sentiment about the Arab cemetery at 
Constantine, at least not such as one associates 
with a Christian burial-place. It sits on the 
sunny slope of a hill, with a silhouette of moun- 
tains for a background, and a foreground 
strewn, helter-skelter, with little tombs and 
koubas in crazy building-block fashion. There 
is no symmetry about anything, and tiny head- 
stones crop up here and there through a tangle 
of weeds and wild flowers. Frequently there 
is a more imposing slab, and occasionally a 
tomb or kouba tinted blue or pink, with per- 
haps its dome gilded. The whole impression, 
however, is of an indiscriminate mixture of 
things that just ‘‘ happened in place,’’ and 
were not set out on any preconceived plan. 

One imposing domed kouba has a bit of shade 
from an overgrowing tree and is surrounded 
by a little level grass-plot which gives it a 
certain distinction of dignity such as a religious 
shrine should have. 

Beyond the cemetery was a great open plot 
upon which was to be held the Mussulman féte, 
which was the real objective of the fast-grow- 
ing procession, and which by this time had 


304 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


gathered into its fold all of Constantine’s avail- 
able Mussulman population,—some _ twenty- 
five thousand souls who habitually say their 
prayers to Allah. 

Here at the féte the thousands of Arabs, 
their yellow, red, or green burnouses flowing 
in the breeze like flags and pennants, grouped 
themselves first of all around the khaouadyj, 
or open-air cafés, the drinking of coffee being 
the preliminary to every social function with 
the Arab. 

At the further end of the open ground were 
set up the tents of the great chiefs, — the Caids 
and Cadis of the surrounding tribes, and along 
one side were grouped cook-shops and fruit- 
sellers. There were no ‘“ hurdy-gurdies,’’ 
‘‘ Aunt Sallies,’’ or ‘‘ shooting galleries.’’ 
The Arab takes his pleasures and makes his 
rejoicings less violently, preferring to squat 
on his heels, or lie on a straw mat, and drink 
coffee, smoke cigarettes, or munch a handful 
of dates or a honey-cake boiled in oil. 

One general cook-shop occupied a prominent 
place. Here were great copper cauldrons 
where the couscous was being prepared. This 
indigenous Algerian dish is about the only one 
containing meat which the temperate Arab 
eats. Even then he eats mostly of the semoule 


Constantine and Gorge du Rummel 305 


and bread and gravy, leaving the fragments 
of mutton or lamb, or chicken (if by chance one 
wandered aimlessly into the pot) to be boiled 
down again for another brew. 

The Arab eats his couscous out of a great 
wooden platter, and disdains knife or fork or 
spoon. A dozen Arabs sit around this shallow 
bowl of wood and dip their fingers into it, each 
in his proper turn. It is a sort of game of 
grab. One may get a choice morsel, or he may 
not. If not as cleanly a method of eating as 
that of the Chinaman’s chopsticks, at any rate 
one’s appetite is sooner satisfied. The Arab 
has the true spirit of camaraderie in his eating 
and drinking. The most cultivated and fastid- 
ious will mingle with the hoi-polloi, and eat 
from the same dish and drink from the same 
merdjiul as the most miserable one among the 
crowd. 

The féte, for such it was, seemed to have 
little religious significance, beyond the march- 
ing in procession and chanting, and the fact 
that it was being held in proximity to holy 
ground. After the feast there was something 
like a demonstration, when two score or more 
Arabs did a sort of a fanatical dance or swirl, 
which reminded one of the combination of an 
Indian war-dance and the gyrations of the der- 


306 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


vishes of Cairo. Shrill cries and dislocating 
leaps and bounds brought some of the partici- 
pants, in time, to a state of inanimation and 
convulsions; but still the others kept on. One 
by one a dancer would drop out, this evidently 
being the way the game was played. When 
we finally came away, half of them were still 
bounding about in a frenzy of delirium. 

We learned later they were a sect of Islam, 
called the Aissaouas, whose principal tenet of. 
faith is the mortification of the fiesh. There 
are various ways of doing this: the hair shirt, 
flagellation, and crawling about on the hands 
and knees; but the way of the Aissaouas is cer- 
tainly the most violent. Some of them even 
go so far as to pierce the cheeks and nose with 
great pins and needles; but if one can swirl 
and gyrate himself into an epileptic state, his 
chances of grace and entrance into that Para- 
dise of Houris promised by Mahomet are just 
as good. 

The féte finally came to an end sometime 
during the mght. Then the cook-shops and 
khaouadjis piled up their belongings in a donkey 
eart, or on camel-back, and the Arabs folded 
their tents and silently stole away after the 
manner set forth in the fable. 

The marabout in whose honour all this came 


Constantine and Gorge du Rummel 307 


about was then left in peace to sleep his long 
sleep undisturbed until the same orgie should 
be repeated the following year. 

The environs of Constantine are marvel- 
lously beautiful. Northward towards Philippe- 
ville by road or rail one rises to the Col des 
Oliviers by zigzags and sharp turns, to descend 
eventually —a matter of a couple of thousand 
feet or more —to the brilliant blue Mediter- 
ranean. Nearer at hand, rising high above 
Constantine itself, are the hills of Mansourah 
and Sidi-M’cid, and to the west the fertile val- 
ley of the Hamma. 

Philippeville is interesting only because of 
its site, which hes on the beautiful Gulf of 
Stora, an ancient port of the Romans. The 
monuments of Philippeville are nearly nil. 
There are some few fragments of the arcades 
of an old amphitheatre, and the modern 
mosque, though in no way an ambitious monu- 
ment, is picturesquely perched above the town. 
The great square, or place, opposite the port 
is a modern improvement which is commend- 
able enough, but not in the least in keeping 
with Africa. It is more like a cheap imitation 
of Monte Carlo’s terrace. 

The Italian influence is strong in all these 
parts. The village of Stora, about four kilo- 


308 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


metres from Philippeville, is practically peo- 
pled by Italians. And one hears as much Ital- 
ian as he does French in the streets of Philippe- 
ville. The little house-corner shrines to be 
found all over the older part of the town are 
also frankly reminiscent of Italy. 

In the bay, too, the little lateen-rigged, clip- 
per-prowed fishing-boats are Italian in design, 
and are manned by Italians. Right here one 
recalls that the ‘‘ sunny Italian ’’ in a foreign 
land is almost invariably a ‘‘ digger of dirt,’’ 
a worker on a railway or canal cutting, or a 
fisherman. 

Philippeville has a decided colour of its own, 
but it is not Arab, and the French is so blended 
with the Italian that its colouring is decidedly 
mixed. . 


CHAPTER XIX 
BETWEEN THE DESERT AND THE SOWN 


Sourn from Constantine to Biskra at the 
desert’s edge is two hundred kilometres as the 
crow flies. As the humble apology of an ez- 
press-train goes, the distance is covered in 
eight hours, and that’s almost fifteen miles an 
hour. Delightful, isn’t it? At the same time 
this snail’s-pace gives one a chance to observe 
things as he goes along, and there is much to 
observe. 

The high plateau on which sits Constantine, 
surrounded by its grain fields and its grazing- 
grounds, is a vastly productive region, and 
prosperity for the European and the indigene 
comes easily enough. The conditions of life 
here are more comfortable than elsewhere in 
the Algerian countryside, save perhaps in the 
Mitidja around Blida. 

This great plateau of the Tell, the granary 
of Africa and one of the finest wheat-growing 
belts of the old world, knows well the rigours 
of winter; but the summer is long and hot, and 

309 


310 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


crops push out from the ground with an abun- 
dance known nowhere else in these parts. 

The mountains of ‘‘ Grande Kabylie ’’ bound 
it on the west and north, and the Aures on the 
east and south. Beyond is the desert and its 
oases. The contrast of topography and climate 
between the desert and the ‘‘ sown ’’ is remark- 
able. All changes in the twinkling of an eye as 
one passes through the rocky gorge of Hi Kan- 
tara, —one of those mythological marvels ac- 
complished by the hand or heel of Hercules. 
At any rate, the cleft in the rock wall is there, 
and in a hundred yards one leaves the. winds 
and chilly atmosphere of a late autumn or early 
winter’s day behind, and plunges into the still, 
burning atmosphere of the desert, with palm- 
tree oases scattered here and there. The same 
phenomenon may be observed elsewhere, but 
not in so forcible a fashion. At Batna in win- 
ter you may see an occasional bear-skin coat, 
with the ‘‘ fur side out,’’ and at Biskra, sixty 
odd miles away, you will find a temperature of 
say 30 degrees centigrade — 86 degrees Fah- 
renheit. 

En route from Constantine by railway no 
towns or cities of note are passed until the 
great military post of Batna is reached. Here 
one may break his journey and get an aspect 


Between the Desert and the Sown 311 


of the mingling life of the desert and the town 
Arab, which is astonishing in its complexity. 
The town Arab lives much as we do ourselves, 
—at least some of his species do, — wears, 
sometimes, a Norfolk jacket and shoes, which 
he calls “* forme Américaine,’’ and travels first- 
class on the railway when he takes his prom- 
enades abroad. The other still clings to his 
burnous and takes off his shoes at every oppor- 
tunity, travelling by camel caravan, as did his 
nneestors of a thousand years ago. 

Batna itself possesses no monuments of note. 
It is, however, the starting-point for Lambessa 
and Timgad, the finest ancient Roman ruined 
cities left standing above ground to-day, — not 
excepting Pompei. A résumé of the delights 
of these fascinating Roman relics is given in 
another chapter of this book. 

Batna possesses a remarkably well-kept com- 
mercial hotel, the ‘‘ Hotel des Etrangers et 
Continentals.’’ It is not a tourist hotel, which 
is all the better for it. Moreover it has electric 
lights in the bedrooms, and a very distinctive 
and excellent menu on the table. What more 
could one want—in what people are wont to 
think of as savage Africa? 

We took a likely looking Arab for a guide 
at Batna, though indeed there was nothing 


312 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


special in the immediate neighbourhood for 
him to guide us to. He wore a ‘‘ Touring Club 
de France’’ badge in his turban, and read 
religiously each month the T. C.F. ‘ Revue,’’ 
and accordingly he appropriated every stran- 
ger as his right, whether one would or no. He 
was useful, however, in keeping off other im- 
portunate Arabs in the great market as we 
strolled between the stalls. 

Batna’s negro village is curiously interest- 
ing, though squalid and in ill repute among the 
authorities. | 

““To le village négre;’’ says your Arab 
guide after you have trudged a couple of kilo- 
metres over a real desert trail. There are only 
a few of these ‘‘ black blocks ’’ in North Africa, 
the negroes usually mingling with the Arabs. 

At night, in Batna’s village négre, one might 
think he was in some head-centre of voodooism, 
so quaint and discordant are the sights and 
sounds. Negroes are much the same the world 
over, whenever they herd together, whether 
they come from the Soudan, Guinea, or Ala- 
bama. 

Here in Algeria the negro café is a coffee- 
shop only a shade more murky than the other 
coffee-shops. And the faces of those squatting 
round about, though they glisten in the smoky 


3 


Between the Desert and the Sown 313 





atinosphere, — ineffectually penetrated by a 
dim light radiating from a swinging lamp in 
the centre, — are more dusky. 

A tumultuous, raucous chant breaks’ out 
above a murmur now and then, though most 
of the time the sound is a mysterious croon- 
ing wail, the genuine negro wail, which is not 
at all like the banshee’s, but quite as penetrat- 
ing. 

It might be a prison cell or the hold of a 
slave-ship, this negro café, for all one can dis- 
tinguish of its appointments. There is noth- 
ing luxurious here; it is not classy or exclu- 
sive in the least. A sow a cup is the price the 
negro pays for his coffee. And since he hasn’t 
the Arabs’ prejudices against strong drink, he 
ean get beet-root and turnip-top cognac and 
chemically made absinthe at cut-rate prices, 
which appeal largely to his pocket, if not his 
taste. 

This symphony in dusk, and in thin, shrill 
so-called music, is impressive. There are ne- 
gro musicians, negro dancing-women, and a 
negro proprietor. It’s the real, unadulterated 
‘‘ coontown ’’ drama, where the players are 
the real thing, and not the coffee-coloured ‘‘ In- 
Dahomey ”’ kind. 

One touch of white only was to be seen in 


314 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Batna’s negro café. This was an Arab of the 
Hauts-Plateaux, with a long, aquiline profile 
and a flowing burnous and haik, most probably 
the lover of one of the trio of dancing-women. 
His emotions were passive. He might have 
been at home under his own vine and fig-tree. 
Still he was out of place, and looked it. ‘The 
most he would do was to give a sickly smile 
at some rude pleasantry of his black compan- 
ions, — and we did that ourselves. 

What of this negro company were not drink- 
ing thick, muddy coffee or ‘‘ caravan’’ tea 
were smoking kif. The odour of opium, mint, 
and kerosene was abominable. A negro of the 
Soudan might stand it, but not a white man; 
at least none whiter than the lone Arab. So 
we passed on our way, the dancing-women 
shrieking, the shrill trumpet or chalwmeau 
squealing, the tambourine jangling, and the oil- 
lamp smoking. It was not heavenly. 

Batna has a very excellent French school for 
Arab children, and it is there that the young 
idea learns how to ‘‘ parler Francais.’’ The 
French schools are doing good work, no doubt, 
but they are spoiling the simplicity of the na- 
tive. 

At Batna we saw a school ‘‘ prize-giving,”’ 
which was conducted as follows: 


Between the Desert and the Sown 315 


‘‘ Premier prix d’application,’’ called out a 
black-coated preceptor, ‘‘ Abdurhaman-ben- 
Mohammed, Arachin-el-Oumach.’’ ‘‘ Boum! 
Boum! ’’ shouted the rest of the class. 

Second prize, third prize, and so on; and 
all the little rag-tag brown and black popula- 
tion came up in a long file,—they all got 
prizes apparently,—and the whole thing 
wound up, as all French functions do, even if 
they are in the heart of Africa, with the sing- 
ing of the ‘‘ Marseillaise.’’ 

The next objective point, going south from 
Batna, is El Kantara and its gorge. 

If ever Longfellow’s poetic lines were appli- 
cable, they are here. 


« Suddenly the pathway ends, 
Sheer the precipice descends, 

Loud the torrent roars unseen ; 
Thirty feet from side to side, 
Yawns the chasm; on air must ride 

He who crosses this ravine.” 


EK] Kantara is easily the most remarkable 
‘‘ sight ’’ of all Algeria. Its Hotel Bertrand 
is a most excellently verandaed establishment, 
— almost the only house in the place, — and 
one may sit on its gallery and watch a continual 
stream of camels, horses, mules, and donkeys 
going by its dooryard all the livelong day. The 


316 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


trail of other days has now become a ‘‘ Route 
Nationale,’’ and is the only means of highway 
communication, for a hundred miles east or 
west, between the plateau lands of the north 
and the desert of the south. Here all roads 
and tracks coming from a wide area in the 
north converge to a narrow thread of a road 
which squeezes itself between the uprights of 
the rocky walls of the Gorge of EK] Kantara. 

The Romans knew this cleft in the rocky 
wall, and built a fine old Roman bridge to clear 
the rushing torrent below. The bridge is still 
there, an enduring monument to the Roman 
builder, but a new road and a railway bridge 
now overhang it; so it remains simply as a 
milestone in the march of progress. 

The red curtain-rocks of the mountain chain 
at Kl] Kantara form the dividing-line between 
the north and the south. Suddenly, as one 
clears the threshold, he comes upon a smiling 
oasis of a hundred thousand date-palms, where 
a kilometre back was a sterile, pebbly plateau- 
plain. Three little baked-mud villages, the 
‘Village Rouge,’’ the ‘‘ Village Blanc,’’ and 
the ‘‘ Village Noir,’’ huddle about the banks 
of the Oued Kantara with waving palms over- 
head and a rushing, gurgling torrent at their 
feet. 


Se 








DADJUDY Pop [0 adsOL) AY] PUD ISDYLA ay T, 


se 


Bi neteatcayy 


Be 
ae 


ane 








Between the Desert and the Sown 317 


There are mouflons and gazelles in the moun- 
tains on either side, and ‘‘ the chase ’’ is one 
of the inducements held out by the hotel and 
Messaoud-ben-Ghebana to prolong your stay. 
They don’t guarantee you either a mouflon 
(which is the ‘‘ Barbary sheep ’’ the novelists 
write about) or a gazelle; but Messaoud-ben- 
Ghebana will find them if any one can, and 
charge you only five frances a day for his serv- 
ices, — including a donkey to carry the traps. 

There are three classic excursions to be made 
at Ii] Kantara, — always, of course, with Mes- 
saoud as guide. To the Gorges de Tilatou, 
to the Gorges de Maafa, and to Beni-Ferah. 
You may get a gazelle on the way, or you may 
not, but you will experience mountain explora- 
tion in all its primitiveness. If you like it, you 
ean keep it up for a week or a month, for El 
Kantara is a much finer centre for making ex- 
cursions from, or indeed for spending the win- 
ter in, than Biskra and its overrated attrac- 
tions of great hotels, afternoon tea, Quaker 
Oats, Huntley & Palmer’s, and ‘‘ Dundee,’’ — 
what the French call orange marmalade, — 
with which the grocers fill their shop-windows 
to catch visitors from across the seas. 

El Kantara is an artist’s paradise; the 
mountains, the desert, the palms of the oasis, 


318 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


and the native villages are all close at hand, 
and there, a short stroll away, is the ocean of 
sand itself. 

The Artist set up shop en plein désert one 
day, and turned her back for a moment only, 
when the outfit, white umbrella, paint-box, and 
camp-stool all disappeared as if buried in the 
dunes of sand. Not a trace of them was to be © 
seen, nor of any living thing or person either, 
only a dim, shadowy low-spread tent, which had 
mysteriously sprung up beneath a neighbouring 
date-palm while her attention had been called 
away. From its cavernous door’ slowly 
emerged a real desert Arab and a train of 
followers, consisting of two or three women 
and a numerous progeny. Perhaps they knew 
something of a white umbrella, ete. No, they 
didn’t. At least the father of the family didn’t; 
but suddenly he spied under a corner of the 
tent flap something strange and hitherto unrec- 
ognized. 

The umbrella was all right, also the stool, 
but the paint-box had been turned out, and the 
tubes looked, half of them, thin and twisted, 
as though they had been emptied; as indeed 
they had, — sucked dry by some of that numer- 
ous progeny like enough, though no ill effects 
were apparent. All was taken in at a glance, 


Between the Desert and the Sown 319 


and the afore-mentioned father of the family 
turned on his offspring and called them ‘‘ pu- 
tains de juif du Mellah,’”’ “ rénégads,’’ ‘‘ vo- 
leurs,’ ‘‘ racmes ameéres,’’ and much more 
vituperation of the same kind. Apologies were 
profuse, but after all was said and done, we 
felt quite grateful for the exhibition of right- 
eous wrath. The desert Arab is a stern father 
if a good one. 

The Arab makes you angry sometimes, but 
in this case it was the children who had caused 
the trouble, and ragamuffins the world over lack 
responsibility, so that can’t be laid to the Arab. 


CHAPTER XX 
BISKRA AND THE DESERT BEYOND 


Biskra, tout le monde descend! ouf! It 
might be Jersey City or Chicago; one experi- 
ences at last that sense of having reached a 
journey’s end. At least it will seem so to most 
who come to the desert’s edge by train from 
Constantine or Algiers, after two days of as 
rocky, uncomfortable railway travelling as one 
can imagine in these progressive days. 

Biskra is commonly reputed the ideal of a 
desert oasis, but indeed as an oasis it is no 
more delightful than that at E] Kantara. Not 
every one will find his ‘‘ Garden of Allah ”’ at 
Biskra. Biskra is by no means all things to 
allmen. Leaving out the silly sentiment, which 
has been propagated by a school of writers who 
take themselves too seriously, there is nothing 
at Biskra which is not better elsewhere. 

It is truly, though, a typical desert oasis, 
and the town which has grown up around it 
is but the natural outcome of trade following 

320 


Biskra and the Desert Beyond 321 









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ae, 
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the flag, for Biskra is the commercial and mili- 
tary gateway to the Sud-Constantinois. 






322 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Biskra is not without its distinctive charac- 
ter. Its native life, its market, and its Moorish - 
coffee-house, are all typical; but in a way they 
have become contaminated with the influx from 
the outside world and much of their colour has 
paled. 

One of the curses Biskra bestows upon the 
stranger within her gates is that of an innu- 
merable and importunate crew of guides, — of 
all colours and shades, of all grades of intelli- 
gence, and of all degrees of proficiency in 
French. The guides of Biskra wear turbans, 
eoifs, and fezes. They look as though they be- 
longed to every Mohammedan tribe of the uni- 
verse. Those who wear bowler hats are harder 
to place; one rather suspects that they are 
J ews. 

‘¢ Get a guide to keep off the other guides,”’ 
is the best advice one can give the stranger to 
Biskra. What makes this state of affairs? 
Too much exploitation, and too many lavish 
and foolish English and Americans. In this 
respect Biskra is not as bad as Cairo, but it 
is getting that way. 

Biskra’s attractions for the visitor are many 
of them artificial. There are the great hotels, 
with their ‘‘ halls,’’ ‘‘ smoking-rooms,’’ ‘‘ read- 
ing-rooms,’’ and ‘‘ bars,’’ and the incipient Ca- 


tx Soest ae 
OEE © 





The Courtyard of the Hotel des Ziban, Biskra 








Biskra and the Desert Beyond 323 


sino with its music and ‘‘ distractions; ’’ and 
there is the Café Glacier with its cool drinks 
at Paris prices. Everything at Biskra is good 
in quality, but lacking character. One hotel 
stands out above all others for excellence and 
distinctive features. It is the Hotel des Ziban. 
It has a distinctive chentéle, made up largely 
of personages such as the officers of the gar- 
rison, a great Sheik or Caid of a southern tribe, 
a grim, taciturn individual with a dozen decora- 
tions on his breast, a government official, a 
minister, perhaps, and so on. And of course 
tourists as well, for tourists are everywhere at 
Biskra, even in the Rue Sainte, where they 
ought not to be, — at least not after dark. 

Biskra’s chief tourist ‘‘ sights,’’ after the 
palm-tree oases of old Biskra and the Jardin 
Landon, are the Moorish cafés, and the nay- 
lettes, or Ouled-Nail dancers, of the Rue Sainte. 
One need not affect this sort of thing if he 
doesn’t want to; but, aside from playing bridge 
in the hotel parlours, or drinking beer in the 
Café Glacier and listing to ‘‘ la musique ”’ of 
‘“les artistes Parisiennes,’’ there is not much 
else to do at night except doze in the hotel 
smoking-room or salon, with scores of other fat 
old ladies and gentlemen. 

The café maure or Moorish coffee-shop of 


324 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


North Africa has no distinct form of architec- 
ture. It may be a transformed shop in the 
European quarter; the vestibule of a Moorish 
habitation, or of a mosque; a stone or mud 
hut by the roadside overhung by a great waving 
banana plant or palm; or it may be a striped 
lean-to tent. The interior fittings vary also. 
In the towns the oven is built up of blue and 
yellow tiles, and the pots and cups are kept on 
a great slab of marble or tile. By the roadside 
there are the cups and a tin or copper pot; but 
the supplies are invariably kept in an unsold- 
ered five-gallon kerosene can. These come out 
from Philadelphia by the hundreds of thou- 
sands, and find their way to all the corners of 
the earth. The Japanese and the Chinese use 
them to roof their huts with; the Singapore 
boatmen to carry their water-supply; and the 
Arab as cooking utensils, and very useful they 
are. They are a by-product and cost nothing, 
except to the Standard Oil Company, the ores 
inal shippers. 

‘The Moorish cafés of Biskra are as typical 
of their class as any seen in the towns, even 
though they are tourist ‘‘ sights.’’ 

The whole establishment is gaudy and erude, 
with its plastered walls, its rough, unpainted 


Biskra and the Desert Beyond 325 


furnishings, its seats and benches all smoke- 
eoloured, as if they were centuries old, — 
though probably they are not. In the rear, 
always in plain view, is the oudjak, the vaulted 
oven or heater, where the thick, syrupy coffee 
is brewed and kept hot. The chief notes of 
colour are the little wine-glasses, the cups, the 
water-bottles, the tiled backgrounds, and the 
head-gear of the habitués, and the parrot — 
always a parrot, in his crudely built cage. The 
establishments of Biskra are typical cafés 
maures, and might well be on the edge or mid- 
dle of the desert itself, instead of in a very 
Frenchified Algerian city of eight thousand in- 
habitants. 

Here are congregated all that queer mélange 
of North African peoples: nomads and Arabs 
of the desert; half-bred, blue-eyed men of the 
coast; the delicately featured Kabyles; Mo- 
rocecans; some Spahis; a negro or two, black 
as night; and even Makhazni from the interior, 
who are at home wherever their horse and sad- 
dle may be. All these and more —the whole 
gamut of the cosmopolitan population of the 
Mediterranean — are here. 

In the Moorish cafés and the ‘‘ Black 
Tents ’’ alike, Makhazni and Spahis play the 


326 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Spanish ‘‘ ronda’’ or dominoes with all the 
devotion of lovers of sedentary amusements 
elsewhere. 

The Spahi and the negro will play together 
all day and half the night, shuffling the cards 
and juggling the dominoes, and only a savage 
grunt, or cry, periodically breaks their silence. 
Their emotions are mostly expressed by inde- 
terminable, leery grins. 

Night falls, and one street alone in Biskra 
retains the activities and life of the daytime. 
It is the street of cafés, where, behind closed 
doors, dance the Ouleds-Nails for the delecta- 
tion of the Arab, the profit of the patron, and 
for the curious from overseas to speculate 
upon. 

The performance of the Moorish cafés of 
Biskra, Constantine, and Tunis are amusing 
and instructive, if not edifying, no doubt. But 
those who expect the conventional ‘‘ musical 
evening ’’ will be disappointed. Painted se- 
quin-bedecked women depend more upon their 
physical charms to appeal to the Arab bour- 
geoisie and the Zouaves, Spahis and Turcos, 
who mostly make up their audiences, than to 
the rhythm of the accompanying orchestra, 
which many a time is drowned out by the free 
and easy uproar, 


Biskra and the Desert Beyond 327 


The music of the indigenes may be soothing, 
but one must be an indigéne to feel that way 
about it. There is nothing very soothing to 
the Anglo-Saxon about the incessant beating 
of a tambourine, or the prolonged shrill squeak 
of a reed pipe, the combination made hideous 
by the persistent whining of the renegade des- 
ert Arab who ‘‘ bosses the job,’’ the only occu- 
pation at which he can work while sitting down 
and drinking coffee for twenty-two hours out 
of the twenty-four. His profits must all go for 
coffee. A hundred cups a day and as many 
more in a night does not seem to jaundice his 
eye or dull his energies, such as they are. Cof- 
fee and tobacco — of any old kind — will keep 
an Arab musician going, whereas a Spaniard 
with a guitar, an Italian with a mandolin, or 
a German with a trombone, would want some 
solid food and alcoholic refreshment as well. 
From this one gathers that the Arab is tem- 
perate; and he is in most things, except coffee, 
cigarettes, and music. 

If one is a serious, thorough, vagabond trav- 
eller, and would study the Ouled-Nails and their 
histories, all well and good; there’s something 
init. But if one goes to prowling around Bisk- 
ra’s Rue Sainte merely for adventure, he is 
liable to get it, and of a costly kind, and he 





328 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


will learn nothing about the Ouled-Nails from 
an ethnological point of view. The sentimental 
writers have drawn altogether too sentimental 
-a picture of this plague-spot. In truth the 
Ouled-Nails are a race of girls and women 
quite apart from those other Algerian tribes. 
They come to Biskra, to Constantine, and to 
Algiers, and live the lives of other free-and- 
easy women of the world.. They dance in the 
Moorish cafés for the delectation of Arabs, 
Turks, and strangers, and they carry on a con- 
siderably less moral traffic as well, gaining 
sous, francs, and louis meanwhile. When she 
has enough golden sequins to link together in 
a kind of a cuirasse, which hangs from her 
velvet brown neck down over her chest in an 
amulet half a yard square, the Ouled-Nail dan- 
seuse retires from business. She goes back to 
her tribe in the southwest, becomes virtuous, 
makes some Arab sheep-herder or camel-trader 
happy, and raises a family, the girls of which 
in time go through the same proceedings. The 
game is an hereditary one, and it is played 
desperately and, apparently, with less ill ef- 
fects than one would suppose. For the women 
are accredited as living moral lives ever after, 
—once they get back to their homes. It is 


Biskra and the Desert Beyond 329 


the contact with civilization, or semiciviliza- 
tion, which does them harm. 

The Casino at Biskra offers as one of its 
attractions the sight of these dancing women 
of the Ouled-Nails without the necessity of con- 
taminating oneself by going down into their 
quarter and seeing the real thing. The con- 
tamination is just as great in the gilded halls 
of the Casino as in some dingy, smoky café 
maure, but the local colour is wanting. 

The excursions to be made from Biskra are 
not aS many, nor so enjoyable, as those from 
El Kantara. The round of Old Biskra and its 
villages is readily made on foot or by car- 
rilages; and one may even continue farther 
afield to the sandy, wavy dunes of the desert, 
and to the ‘‘ Fontaine Chaude,’’ or to the 
Shrine of Sidi-Okba, twenty kilometres out 
over the camel trail of the open desert. This 
excursion to Sidi-Okba is classic. 

Sidi-Okba sits in the midst of a fine oasis 
of some seventy thousand date-growing palms. 
It is a miserable, unlovely enough little village, 
but the memory of the Arab conqueror, Okba- 
ben-Nofi, has made it famous. 

‘¢ You will find nothing to eat at Sidi-Okba,”’ 
say the guide-books. ‘‘ You must carry your 


330 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





provisions.’’ It all depends on what you want 
to eat. If it is simple refreshment only, you 
will find it here at Sidi-Okba — the tomb of 
the founder of Kairouan — in a veritable guin- 
guette such as one sees in suburban Paris, with 
arbours, trellised vines, and glittering coloured 
balls of glass suspended from the trees. It 1s 
a little bit of transplanted France, dull, tawdry, 
and uninteresting enough. But still, there it 
is, —a café-restaurant sitting tight in a little 
Arab village, before the tomb of the great Sidi- 
Okba, which attracts pilgrims all through the 
year from among the Mussulman population 
of all North Africa. The mosque, where repose 
the sainted man’s remains, is the most ancient 
monument of Islam in Algeria. 

The tomb, the mosque, the Medersa, or Arab 
school, and the afore-mentioned guwinguette, are 
all there are at Sidi-Okba; but it should be 
omitted from no man’s, or woman’s, itinerary 
in these parts. 

Back again over the same route one gains 
Biskra after a hard day’s round en voiture, 
or on the back of a donkey, or a mulet, as he 
chooses. The only things you see en route are 
an occasional solitary gourbi; a mud hut or 
two; or perhaps a simple tomb or kouba rising 
away in the distance,—a white silhouette 









































Sidi-Okba 








Biskra and the Desert Beyond 331 


against a background of yellow sand and blue 
sky. 

These lhttle punctuating notes dot the land- 
scape all through Tunisia and Algeria. Fre- 
quently you will find scattered about the kouba 
numerous detached tombs, still distinguishable, 
though half buried in the sand. These detached 
shrines and cemeteries, often half submerged 
in great waves of sand, are met with on the 
outskirts of nearly all Algerian towns and cit- 
les; and one is no more surprised at coming 
upon one beside the road than he is at the sight 
of a kilometre stone. 

Southwest from Biskra is the region of the 
Ziban, a zone of steppes, planted here and 
there with verdant oases. 

Topographically the features of the Ziban 
are mountainous, though ranges of the Zab 
slope and taper off imperceptibly into the 
dunes of the desert. 

The inhabitants of the Ziban are of a race 
differing considerably from the Kabyle and 
the Arab, favouring the former more than the 
latter. The plaited hair of the women, their 
general barbaric love of jewelry and personal 
adornment, their complexion, their chains, 
bracelets, and collarettes all point to the fact 
that they are an immigrant race, the develop- 


332 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


ment of a stock originally brought from afar, 
and not descended from the desert nomad. 

Throughout Algeria the nomad Arab is he 
who comes from the Sahara and its closer con- 
fines during the summer, returning with his 
herds in the winter to the desert, or to the 
great tents of his father’s tribe. The Arab 
peasant, or labourer, is a native of the Tell 
region, and is manifestly not of the same purity 
of type as the desert Arab who speaks the pure 
idiom of the Koran. The Kabyle is another 
race apart. The distinctive characteristics of 
the three peoples are easily recognized when 
you are once familiar with them. 

Bordering upon the Monts du Zab (the 
Ziban) are the Monts des Ouled-Nails, the 
home of the curiously distinct tribe before 
mentioned, who are more like degenerate Ka- 
byles than they are like the desert Arab tribes. 

Still farther in the southwest is a sad, gloomy 
land, half desert and half mountain, not wholly 
Saharan, and yet not wholly Algerian, either 
in topographical characteristics or in the char- 
acteristics of its people. It is the region of the 
M’zabs, wild savage children of an uncivilized 
land, fanatically religious and veritable dé- 
bauchés, — which the Berber tribes are not. 
Their houses are poor, but their purses are 


Biskra and the Desert Beyond 333 





well lined, and, since France has taken over 
Algeria, they are also French, though they 
might be Martians for all they resemble the 
French. 

‘‘ It takes five Arabs to get the best of an 
Algerian Jew,’’ says a proverb of the Sud, 
‘Sand five Jews to master a M’zabite.’’ In 
origin the people are supposed to be a mixture 
of the ancient Phcenicians and Numidians. 
Members of the tribe swarm all over Algeria, 
and are found even in Marseilles, as ambulant 
merchants, but they invariably return to their 
native land, for, it seems, it is a tenet of their 
religion not to remain away more than two 
years. 

Among them are four orthodox sects of Mus- 
sulmans, and still another peculiar to them- 
selves, whose chief characteristic seems to con- 
sist of interminable praying; whereas the con- 
ventional Mohammedan is contented with ex- 
horting his God five times a day. 

Their towns rank as veritable holy cities in 
their creed, with Ghardaia as the capital. The 
satellite villes saimtes are Melika, Ben-Izguen, 
Bou Noura, El Ateuf, Beryan, and Guerrara. 
Tn all their population numbers between thirty 
and forty thousand. 

The general aspect of the land is one of mel- 


334 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


ancholy, because of the numbers of their burial- 
grounds, three or four surrounding each town. 
The cemeteries are ‘‘ places of prayer ’’ with 
the M’zabites, and their population of weeping, 
wailing, praying faithful is always numerically 
greater than the dead. When the M’zabite is 
not selling something he is praying. 

Quite the most varied ethnographic and top- 
ographic changes to be observed in North Af- 
rica are those south of Biskra, within the lim- 
its of E] Kantara on the north and Oued-Souf 
in the south. 

The religious tribes and sects are numerous, 
each having its own supplementary creeds and 
eustoms; the Ziban differing from those of the 
Ramaya, the Zogea, the Sidi-Okba, and the 
Oued R’hir. Still other oases passed en route 
have their zaouyas or brotherhoods of profess- 
ing coreligionists, not differing greatly from 
each other in general principles, but still pos- 
sessed of variants as wide apart as the 
Methodists and Universalists of the Christian 
world. 

Throughout all this region the marabouts, or 
holy men, are most hospitable, and are as ap- 
preciative of little attentions — gifts of choco- 
late, of candles, or even matches—as could 


Biskra and the Desert Beyond 335 


possibly be imagined. In many cases they are 
veritable hermits, whose only intercourse with 
the outside world is with passing strangers, — 
who are few. 


CHAPTER XxI 
IN THE WAKE OF THE ROMAN 


Tue path of the Roman through North Af- 
rica was widely strewn with civic and military 
monuments as grand as any of the same class 
elsewhere in the Western Empire. 

One comes to associate the ancient Roman 
with Gaul, and is no longer surprised when he 
contemplates the wonderful arenas of Arles 
and Nimes or the arch and the theatre at 
Orange. Pompei and Herculaneum are clas- 
sic memories of our school-time days, and we 
think it nothing strange that their ruins exist 
to-day. When, however, we view the vast ex- 
panse of vertical marbles at Timgad in Alge- 
ria’s plateau of the Tell, the Pretorium at 
Lambessa, the great Roman Arch at Tebessa, 
the amphitheatre at Djemel, or the ruined por- 
tal of Dougga, it all comes so suddenly upon 
us that we wonder what nature of a hodge- 
podge dream we are living in. 

The effect is further heightened when one 
sees a caravan of camels, horses, and donkeys, 

336 


In the Wake of the Roman 337 





and its accompanying men and women of the 
desert, camped beside some noble Roman arch 
or tomb standing alone above the desert plain. 
It is not alone, of course. There are other 
neighbouring remains buried round about, or 
there are still fragments that serve some neigh- 
bouring settlement as a quarry from which to 
draw blocks of stone to build anew, as did the 
builders of certain Italian cathedrals draw 
some of their finest marbles from the ruins of 
old Carthage. 

All North Africa is very rich in Roman 
ruins, and the Arabs are as interested in these 
antique remains as are the whitest, longest- 
bearded archeologists that ever lived. It is 
not their love of antiquity that accounts for 
this, but the possibility of getting information 
which will lead to treasure. Most of these 
North African Roman ruins were despoiled of 
all articles of value by the ancestors of the 
present Arabs long before the antiquarians 
took it into their heads to exploit them; but 
the traditional game still goes on. 

The Arab of Algeria to-day still looks for- 
ward to the time when he may yet discover a 
vast buried treasure. Perhaps he may! Who 
knows? Tradition and legend all but definitely 
locate many buried hoards which have not yet 


338 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


been touched, and any grotto or cavern mirac- 
ulously or accidentally discovered may prove a 
veritable gold mine. The Arab thinks that this 
is as sure to happen to him as for the clock to 
strike twelve on the eve of the Jour des Ra- 
meaux. And that he will tumble on all fours 
into the midst of a cavern paved and walled 
with gold, pearls, and precious stones. 

From Tlemcen on the west (the ancient Po- 
maria of the Romans, and an important Roman 
camp) to Tozeur in the Sud-Tunisien (the site 
of the still more ancient Thusuros) is one long, 
though more or less loosely connected, chain 
of relics of the Roman occupation. 

At Cherchell are vestiges of an antique Ro- 
man port; at Tipaza various civic monuments; 
and not far distant the enigmatic ‘‘ Tombeau 
de la Chrétienne.’’ On the coast, to the east 
of Algiers, is Stora, a port of antiquity, and 
Bona (the ancient Hippo-Regius), where the 
tourist to-day divides his attentions between 
the commonplace basilica erected to Saint Au- 
eustin, who was bishop of Hippo-Regius in the 
fourth century, and the tomb of the Marabout 
Sidi-Brahmin, with the balance of appeal in 
favour of the latter simple shrine. Modern 
Christian architecture often descends to base, 
unfeeling garishness, whereas the savage sim- 





Bona 


) 


The Kasba 





In the Wake of the Roman 339 





plicity of the exotic races often produces some- 
thing on similar lines, but in a great deal bet- 
ter taste. Here is where the onyx and marble 
basilica at Bona, albeit one of Christendom’s 
great shrines, loses by comparison with the 
simple kouba of the Mohammedan holy man. 

On the route from Bona to Hippo-Regius 
(to-day Hippone) is a restored Roman bridge, 
so restored indeed that it has lost all semblance 
of antiquity, but still it is there to marvel at. 

‘* Bone la belle! ’’ the French fondly call the 
antique city. Bona of to-day is beautiful as 
modern cities go, but it is so modern with its 
quais, its promenades, its esplanade, and its 
pompous Hotel de l’Orient, that one loves it 
for nothing but its past. The Kasba, the mili- 
tary headquarters on the edge of the town by 
the shore, piles up skyward in imposing for- 
tress-fashion and is the chief architecturally 
interesting monument of the town itself. 

Eastward from Bona, eighty kilometres or 
so along the coast, is La Calle, another port 
of antiquity, the Tunizia of the Romans, and 
one of the old French trading-posts on the 
Barbary coast. There are few ancient remains 
at La Calle to-day, but it is one of the most in- 
teresting of all the Algerian coast towns all 
the same, 


340 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


La Calle would be worthy of exploitation as 
a tourist resort if one could only get to it com- 
fortably as it lies half hidden just to the west- 
ward of the Bastion de France and hemmed in 
on the south by the Khoumir region. The road 
from Bona to La Calle is the worst in Algeria, 
and the light railway is very poor. La Calle 
has become the centre of the world’s coral fish- 
ery since the Italians have worked out their 
own beds. Out of about 5,000 Kuropeans, La 
Calle has quite half of its population made up 
of sunny Neapolitans and Sicilians, whose chief 
delight is to dive into deep water and bring up 
coral, or dig a cutting for a canal or railway. 
Wherever there is a job of this kind on hand, 
the Italian is the man to do it. 

The town is very ancient, and its name is 
derived from the word meaning dock, or cale, 
hence it is not difficult to trace its origin back 
to a great seaport of history. Its commerce 
has been exploited since 1560 by Marseillais 
merchants; but in spite of this it is to-day 
more Italian than French. | 

The coral industry is still great, but here, 
too, the supply is on the wane. It has been 
fashionable for too long a time, in spite of the 
trafic in pink celluloid and porcelain, which 


In the Wake of the Roman 341 


= 


furnishes most of the ‘‘coral’’ to kitchen 
maids and midinettes. 

With the falling off of the coral industry, 
the sardine fishery has developed, and now the 
little fishes boiled in oil, the universally pop- 
ular hors d’euvre, are as likely to have come 
from the harbour of La Calle as the Bay of 
Douarnenez. They are not so good as the lat- 
ter variety (though as a fact the sardine is a 
Mediterranean fish, only caught in northern 
waters because it migrates there in summer), 
but they are a good deal better than the Nova 
Scotia or Norway sardines of commerce, which 
are not sardines at all. 

From the coast down into the interior Con- 
stantine, the Cirta of the ancients, looms large 
in the roll-eall of antiquity. After the Numid- 
ian kings came Sittius with the backing of 
Cesar, and the whole neighbouring region 
blossomed forth with prosperous and growing 
eities, Mileum (Mila), Chellu (Collo), and Ru- 
sicade (Philippeville). Among Cirta’s famous 
men was Fronton, the preceptor of Marcus 
Aurelius. In the latter days of the Empire 
and under Byzantine domination, Cirta became 
the capital of a province, as is the Constantine 
of to-day. 

Constantine’s Roman remains are not many 


342 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





to-day. Those of the great bridge across the 
Gorge of the Rummel are the principal ones. 
Various antique constructive elements are 
readily traced, but the present bridge swings 
out boldly away from the old stone piers, leav- 











) USO0-CALLED 
TOMB OF CONSTANTINE & 





ing the Roman bridge an actual ruin and noth- 
ing more. Its keystone did not fall until 1858, 
though probably the actual arch of that time 
only dated from the century before, as great 
works of restoration, perhaps indeed of entire 
reconstruction, were then undertaken by Salah- 
Bey. 

Near Constantine, on the road to Kroubs, is 


In the Wake of the Roman 343 








the absurdly named Tomb of Constantine, ab- 
surdly named because this Greco-Punie monu- 
ment could never have been the tomb of Con- 
stantine from its very constructive details, 
which so plainly mark its epoch. It is never- 





theless a very beautiful structure, — what there 
is left of it. Moreover it is a mausoleum of 
some sort, though the natives call it simply 
souma or tower. 

Its ground-plan and its silhouette are alike 
passing strange, though plain and simple to 
a degree. 

Another tomb in this province which is one 


344 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets — 





of the relics of antiquity (over which arche- 
ologists have raved and disputed since they 
got into competition by expressing their views 
and printing books about them) is the tomb of 
Médracen or Madghasen, on the road from 
Constantine to Batna. 

It is a great cone of wooden-looking blocks 
of stone, a sort of pyramidal cone, with a 
broad, flat base. At a distance it looks like 
a combination of Fingal’s Cave and the Pyra- 
mid of Cheops. 

Supposedly this was a royal mausoleum, the 
burial-place of Médracen. The entrance to this 
really remarkable monument was discovered in 
1850, but only recently has its ground-plan been 
made public by those secretive antiquarians 
who sometimes do not choose to give their in- 
formation broadcast. 

El Bekri, the Arab writer of the eleventh 
century, wrote something about this monument 
which, being rediscovered in later centuries, 
led to investigations which unearthed a monu- 
ment according to the above plan. 

In the interior of the Constantinois, between 
Constantine and Biskra, in the midst of that 
wonderfully fertile plateau of the Tell, are 
three magnificently interesting Roman cities, 
Lambessa, Timgad, and Tebessa. They are only 


In the Wake of the Roman 345 


to be reached from Batna by diligence, by hired 
carriage, or by automobile, —if one has one, 
and cares to take chances on getting through, 
for of course there are no supplies to be had 
en route. The distance from Batna to Tebessa 
— where one is again in touch with the railway, 
a branch leading to the Bona-Guelma line at 
Souk-Ahras —is about a hundred and eighty 
kilometres. 

A placid contemplation of one or all of the 
cities making up this magnificent collection of 
Roman ruins in the heart of Africa will give 
one emotions that hitherto he knew naught of. 

Batna itself is not a tourist point, though an 
interesting enough place to observe the native 
as he mingles with the military and the Eu- 
ropean civilization. ‘‘ Batna-la-bivouac ’’ the 
city is called, because of the great military 
post here. It is not a dead city, but a sleeping 
one. At its very gates rises the conical tomb 
of the Numidian king, Massinissa. Just be- 
fore Batna is reached by the railway, coming 
from El Guerrah, is Seriana, so known to the 
Arabs, though the French have recently re- 
named it Pasteur, after the illustrious chemist. 
The site is that of the ancient Lamiggiga. A 
dozen kilometres or more out into the plateau 
lands to the northwest is Zana, the ancient city 


346 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


of Diana. Here still exist two great triumphal 
arches, one of a single bay and the other of 
three, the latter constructed by the Emperor 
Macrin in 217 a.p. <A temple to Diana for- 
merly here has disappeared, but before its em- 
placement is a great monumental gateway still 
in a very good state of preservation. There 
are also vestiges of a Byzantine fortress. 

From Batna to Lambessa, on the road to 
Timgad, is a dozen kilometres. The ruins of 
the Lambesis of the Romans are of enormous 
extent, even those so far uncovered to view, 
and much more remains to be excavated. 

The Third Legion of Augustus, charged with 
the defence of North Africa, here made their 
camp in the beginning of the second century of 
our era, and the outlines of this camp are to- 
day well defined. 

Of the monumental remains, the Pretorium 
is a vast quadrangular structure in rosy-red 
stone most imposingly beautiful. The forum 
is plainly marked, and near by are the baths, 
with their heating-furnaces yet visible; and 
the ruined areades of an amphitheatre crop up 
through the thin soil in a surprising manner. 
The eastern and western gateways of this vast 
military camp are still more than fragmentary 
in silhouette and outline. 








SUINM S]] PUD Dssaquvy 


gow 


#, 
4, 
a 











In the Wake of the Roman 347 





Farther on is a great three-bayed arch built 
under Septimus Severus and a pagan temple 








. BK e du Nord 






S35 Ke 


to Esculapius. The Capitol, in its ground-plan, 
and with respect to a great part of its walls, 
stands proud and magnificent as of yore. It 
was dedicated to Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva. 


348 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


The ruins of a Roman aqueduct lie to the south 
of the Capitol. 

To the north, a matter of four kilometres or 
so, is a pyramidal tomb to Flavius Maximus, 
Prefect of the Third Augustan Legion. 

Close beside all this buried treasure is the 
great government penitentiary. Two thousand 
Turk, Jew, and Arab thieves and murderers 
are there shut up; when they want exercise, 
they are given a pick and shovel and set to 
work as one of the ‘‘ outside contingent,’’ dig- 
ging away the debris of ages from these mag- 
nificent Roman ruins. This is the sort of crim- 
inal labour which doesn’t affect competition. 
The forcats of Algeria accomplish some good 
in life after all. 

Timgad is twenty-five kilometres beyond 
Lambessa, and, though only the site of a ruined 
Roman city, founded under the Emperor Tra- 
jan, has hotel accommodation of a very accept- 
able, if not luxurious, kind (Hotel Meille). 

One should take a guide, once arrived at 
Timgad, to save time, otherwise he may worry 
it all out with the map herewith. 

Sidi Hassin, our guide at Timgad, was a 
man of medium size, young, thin and muscu- 
lar, with an incipient scraggy beard. He was 
dressed modestly and even becomingly, for he 


In the Wake of the Roman 349 


Chea dacces vers ln route Hatna-Khenche 
TIMGAD 
Matres Porte d'Entrés 


UY 
Grande Therm ° 
Ry, / Frincipale 
Galepie’ ide. Trajem. | duNord ag pecanennens 
ate 2 : \, 


j 


TOS Wis 
ai att 


le 


Lryty 
Ly, 
. Aly , 
=p 
LY 
ae 
I Maiso 
ACTH 





had not mingled Manchester goods with his 
haik and burnous woven in some Kabyle vil- 
lage. On his head was a little round turban, 


350 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


and his sandals were laced with leather thongs. 
He was decidedly a home-made product. His 
compressed visage bespoke energy and intelli- 
gence, and a little mocking laugh, a sort of 
audible smile, was ever on his lips, in strong 
contrast to the melancholic indifference of the 
average Arab. 

Sidi Hassin seemed the right sort of a phi- 
losopher and friend for our journey around 
Timgad, so we took him as soon as he offered 
his services. His recommendation for the job 
was, in his own words, as follows: 

“* Tu es sous le doigt de Dieu et sous le mien! 
Je réponds de tot. Tu reviendras sain et 
sauf.’’ 

Thamugadi was founded by Trajan in the 
year 100 a.p., the actual labour being the work 
of the soldiers of the Third Legion, then en- 
camped at Lambessa. Thamugadi, a foyer of 
Roman civilization in a still barbarous land, 
was of great importance and wealth. It lived 
in security and prosperity until the early part 
of the sixth century, when it was destroyed by 
the Berbers. 

More luxuriously disposed even than Lam- 
bessa, Timgad presents the very ideal of a 
ruined Roman city. It had not, perhaps, the 
wealth of Pompeii, and it had not Pompeii’s 


In the Wake of the Roman 351 


wonderful background of Vesuvius and the 
Bay of Naples, but it was more ample and more 
splendid in its arrangements than any other 
ruined Roman city left for tourists to marvel 
at to-day. 

The French ‘‘ Service des Monuments His- 
toriques ’’ began excavating Timgad’s ruins in 
1881, and now one is able to locate with accu- 
racy the various civie and military structures. 
These cover such a large territory that the city 
must ever take rank as one of the most inter- 
esting ruins unearthed to this date. 

The ground-plan here given explains it all 
precisely, and the reader is referred to the 
‘‘ Guide Illustré de Timgad,’’ on sale at the 
Hotel Meille, for detailed descriptions which 
eannot be elaborated here. 

A Byzantine fortress, built under Justinian 
in the sixth century, is also here. It was an 
outpost or defence which guarded the pass 
through the rock wall of the Aures, from the 
high plateau of Numidia to the Lybian Desert 
to the south. Its thick walls, two metres or 
more, are still flanked by eight towers. 

From Timgad to Kenchela is some seventy 
kilometres, and is covered by diligence once 
a day, the journey taking twelve hours and 
costs ten franes. You pass several foums, or 


352 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


springs, and cross several oueds or river-beds 
on the way, and finally, after a steep climb, you 
reach Kenchela, built upon the site of the an- 
cient Mascula, one of the contemporaries of 
Lambesis and Thamugadi. 

To-day Kenchela has nothing for the tour- 
ist but its Hotel de France, and its Monday 
market, which like other indigéne markets is 
full of iridescent local colour and life. Near 
by, on the flank of the mountains, were Roman 
baths, known as the Aque Flaviane, passed by 
on the road from Timgad. Two huge pools, 
one round and the other square, are all that 
remain to-day. 

To reach Tebessa from Kenchela one may 
take the railway to Ain-Beida,—a matter of 
fifty kilometres. There are no ruins en route 
except at Ksar-Baghai, a great Byzantine for- 
tress built by Justinian. Its square donjon 
and round towers look like those of the feudal 
strongholds of Kurope. They are not the least 
African. 

From Ain-Beida to Tebessa is another 
eighty-eight kilometres of well-laid modern 
roadway. It is covered by a daily diligence in 
ten hours, at a cost of fifteen francs. 

Tebessa is a worthy rival of Lambessa and 
Timgad. Its ruins are many to-day. The 


In the Wake of the Roman 353 


most notable ones are Caracalla’s Arch of Tri- 
umph, a temple of the same epoch (the be- 
ginning of the third century of our era), and 
innumerable finds preserved in the local mu- 
seum. The great arch is a stupendous and 
very beautiful work, and the temple worthy to 


PORTE CARACALLA 











Post Militaire 


Franeas’s PORTE | SALOMON 
? 


PORTE o’AIN CHELA 


rank with the Maison Carrée at Nimes, the 
svelt proportions and marble Corinthian col- 
umns of which are its chief features. 

The present city of Tebessa sits in the midst 
of a vast expanse seattered with Roman ruins 
and surrounded by the still existing Byzantine 


354 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


walls built by one Salomon, a general of the 
Legion of Justinian. 

These walls have stood for thirteen centu- 
ries, restored from time to time, until now, with 
the coming of the French, the aspect of the 
modern walled city has the disposition given 
above. Fourteen rectangular towers, including 
the massive fortress-gate of Caracalla, add 
considerably to the value of the defences. 

Not only at Tebessa, but all around for a 
radius of twenty-five kilometres, the ground is 
strewn with old Roman and Byzantine relics; 
notably at Morsott, where has recently been 
unearthed the site of the ancient Theverte of 
the Romans. It is entirely a new discovery, 
and what great finds may ultimately be brought 
to light, no one as yet can conjecture. 

Two basilicas have already been brought to 
the surface, two isolated mausoleums, a vast 
monumental gateway, a drinking-fountain of 
astonishing proportions, baths, and many beau- 
tiful and practically undefiled mosaics. 

These ruins are scattered over an area of 
seven thousand square metres, and, almost 
without exception, their preservation is in such 
a condition that, so far as outlines are con- 
cerned, one is able to construct anew what must 
have been a very important centre of Roman 


In the Wake of the Roman 355 


civilization. This group of neighbouring Ro- 
man towns and cities of the past, beginning 
with Tebessa and ending with Lambessa, form 
perhaps the most curious and extensive area 
of Roman ruins to be found to-day within a like 
radius. 





The first exploration of the ruins of Morsott 
was through the means of the ‘‘ Société Arché- 
ologique ’’ of Constantine, but the French gov- 
ernment has stepped in and claimed them for 
its own and classed them as ‘‘ Monuments His- 
toriques,’’ which means that no more will 
strangers be able to lug away with them as 
excess baggage a Roman capital, to be used 
as a garden seat at home. This is right and 
proper, the most passionate collector will ad- 
mit, 


CHAPTER XXII 
TUNIS AND THE SOUKS 


*¢ A travers la douceur de tes jeunes jardins 
Je m’avance vers toi, Tunis, ville étrangére. 
Je te vois du haut des gradins 
De ta colline d’herbe et de palmes légéres.”’ 


By sea one approaches Tunis through the 
canal which runs from La Goulette to the quais 
and docks in the new town of Tunis; and one 
pays the company which exploits the harbour 
works four franes for the privilege. It’s prog- 
ress if you like, but it’s about the most expen- 
sive half a dozen miles of travel by water that 
exists in all the known world. 

By land one arrives by railway, and is 
mulcted a similar amount by some red-fezzed, 
nut-brown Arab for pointing out the way to 
your hotel. The porteurs, portefaix, and fac- 
cinit who earry your luggage at Tunis are most 
importunate. If they happen to tumble your 
trunk overboard, they still strike you for their 
pay. You say: ‘‘ Pourquoi vous donnerais- 
je?’’ And the answer is: ‘‘ Parceque c’est 

356 


Tunis and the Souks Bay) 


mor qui a perdu votre malle.’’ Moral, travel 
light. You take your choice, it’s only four 
francs either way. And truly it is worth it, for 
there is nothing, short of Constantinople or 
Cairo, as Oriental as old Tunis, the Tunis of 
the souks, of the mosques, and minarets. The 
other Tunis, that one down by the docks, and 
the new-made land lying before the Arab quar- 
ter, 1s as conventionally twentieth-century as 
Paris or New York. It is very up to date (a 
sign of prosperity and progress), and that’s 
what the French and native government offi- 
cials are working for. Tunis is the coming 
land of exploitation, a little corner of the globe 
as rich in the products of nature, mines and 
fruits and vegetables, as any other wherever 
found. 

The Lake of Tunis is no longer seething with 
the variegated commerce of old; things are 
more prosaic with steam than with sail, but 
to pass through her sea-gate is to be sur- 
rounded by the people of the Bible, the Arabian 
Nights, and the Alhambra of the days of the 
Moors. Tunis is the veritable gate of East- 
ern life, of the life of Haroun-Al-Rachid. The 
European city by the harbour is of to-day. 
The walled native city is almost unconscious of 
the existence of modern Europe. It is the most 


358 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


interesting tourist resort of North Africa, 
more so than Algiers by far, with its souks, 
its proximity to Carthage, and its Orientalism. 
Tunis is a city of consulates. Not all of 
them have business to transact, but still they 
are there, the consulates of all nations under 
the sun. ‘‘ Do you have many of your country 
people to look after? ’’ the writer interrogated 
of one accredited from a South American gov- 
ernment, a German, by the way, whom he met 
in a Tunis café. He replied: ‘‘ But there are 
none of my government’s people here; they 
neither live here, trade here, nor pass through 
as tourists, as do the English and Americans.”’ 
‘What then do you do? ’’ he was asked. ‘‘ I 
correspond with my government.’’ ‘‘ Well, 
why not be frank about it, that is what most 
consuls and consulates do!’’ The expatriate 
who wants help or even information from his 
government’s representative is usually met by 
some underling, who at once begins edging him 
toward the door and says guilelessly: ‘‘ This 
office has no information on that subject,’’ or, 
‘‘T really don’t know myself; you’ll have to 
see the consul, but just at present .. .”’ 
These receptions are stupefying in their as- 
ininity, but they come to pass in most con- 
sulates, and those at Tunis are no exception. 


Tunis and the Souks 359 


Tunis’ Arab town is less spoilt by the en- 
eroachment of outside influences than that of 
Algiers. Day or night, it is a wonderful chap- 
ter from the ‘‘ Arabian Nights ’’ that one lives, 
as he strolls aimlessly up one narrow, twisting 
ruelle and down another. Here is a great tow- 
ering minaret of a mosque which seemingly 
does business at all hours, and there is a syn- 
agogue which has Saturday for a busy day. 
The perfume-sellers of the Souk des Parfums 
are Mohammedans, and intersperse religion 
with business; the saddle-makers, jewellers, 
and leather-workers are often Jews, and attend 
strictly to business for six days in the week 
and shut up shop on Saturday, make their 
necessary devotions quickly and stand around 
on their door-sills the rest of the day dressed 
in their holiday clothes. All castes and creeds 
are here, from the Italian chestnut-vendor to 
the Jew old-clo’ dealer, and from the desert 
nomad horse-dealer to the town-bred Arab 
who wears a silk burnous and carries a cane. 

The souks or bazaars of Tunis are the chief 
delight of the stranger, and certainly no such 
‘¢ shopping ’’ can be done elsewhere as here; 
no, not even at Cairo, for, after all, Tunis is 
‘‘less spoiled ’’ than Cairo, though even here 
the stranger is a fair mark for the Arab trader, 


360 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


who augments his price a hundred per cent. 
You must bargain with the Oriental, be he 
Arab, Turk, Jew, Hindu, Chinaman, or Jap- 
anese, and the further east you go, the more 
the necessity for bargaining. 

One of the pleasantest features of travel for 
many, no doubt, is visiting the shops. Travel- 
lers should, however, exercise judgment and 
discrimination, and should take a little trouble 
to ascertain what are the genuine specialties 
of the place. ‘‘ Articles de touriste’’ should 
at all times be avoided; nine cases out of ten 
they are made to sell. At Tunis, as at Cairo 
or Constantinople, one is painfully at the mercy 
of his guide, who, if he can, takes him to the 
large shops, which, as a rule, deal mainly in 
pseudo-curios, or articles manufactured solely 
for strangers. These are invariably the shops 
where the enterprising shopkeepers pay the 
ouides the largest commission. No doubt the 
farce of solemnly presenting coffee to the pur- 
chaser, a custom which the tourist has been 
told by his guide-book to expect, is effective 
‘¢ playing-up,’’ but the innocent stranger may 
rest assured that while he is thus literally im- 
bibing the Oriental atmosphere, he will pay for 
it as well in the bill. He may not notice it, but 
it is there. 





swun J, ‘sADDZDg ayy Uy 


{& 








yee 





Tunis and the Souks 361 


The most characteristic finds to be had in 
Tunis to-day are the fine old mirrors, made at 
Genoa and Florence for wealthy Turks and 
Arabs of a hundred or two years ago; mouch- 
arabias, stolen from some Moorish house; the 
thousand and one decorations of tile and baked 
clay which are unmistakable as to their genu- 
ineness; and good Kabyle silver jewelry. 
There are one or two shops in the European 
quarter where one can be confident he is getting 
the real thing, and where they sell it by weight, 
at two hundred frances a kilo. 

In another category, more or less tawdry to 
be sure, but ever fascinating to the stranger, 
are such things as stuffed lizards, gazelles’ 
horns and skins, panther and jackal skins, 
eurlous engraved boxes covered with camel- 
skin, negro tom-toms, castanets, amulets, and 
pottery, Arab knives, daggers and muskets, 
Morocco slippers, saddle-bags and purses, Tou- 
areg weapons and leather goods, ostrich eggs 
and feathers, copper bowls and ornaments. 

Perhaps the above suggestions will seem 
prosaic and matter-of-fact to the sentimental 
traveller, to whom the very word bazaar offers 
a suggestion of romantic adventure, to say 
nothing of the possibility of real ‘‘ discover- 
ies.’?’ But in places of tourist resort bargain- 


362 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


ing is no jonger conducted after the stately 
fashion of the ‘‘ Arabian Nights,’’ when the 
purchase of a brass tray or an embroidered 
saddle-cloth was a solemn treaty, and the bar- 
gain for a lamp a diplomatic event, not to be 
lightly undertaken or hurriedly concluded. 
To-day it is simply a businesslike transaction 
in which the golden rule plays a no more prom- 
inent part than it does in Chicago’s wheat-pit. 
There is the coffee-drinking left, to be sure, 
but that is only part of the game. 

The foreign element has made astonishing 
inroads into the trade of Tunis, and the Italian, 
the Greek, the Maltese, and the Jew are every- 
where working at everything. The Jew, more 
than any other race, has made the greatest 
progress, as the following tale, or legend, if 
it be not entirely a veracious tale, will show. 

A Jew of Tunis a couple of centuries ago 
commissioned a French merchant to order for 
him a cargo of black hats, green shawls and 
red silk stockings. When, however, the goods 
arrived, the Jew repudiated the order. Haled 
before the Bey, who in those days adminis- 
tered justice himself, the Jew denied not only 
the order, but also all knowledge of the French 
merchant. ‘‘ Where are your witnesses? ”’ 
asked the Bey of the Frenchman. ‘‘ I have 


Tunis and the Souks 363 


none, Sire,’’ he replied, ‘‘ not even a line of 
writing. The order was given me verbally by 
the Jew.’’ ‘‘ Then,’’ decided the Bey, ‘‘ as it 
is only oath against oath, I cannot pronounce 
judgment in your favour.’’ The Frenchman 
walked sadly away, knowing that this meant 
to him absolute ruin. Hardly had he reached 
his home, when he was amazed and alarmed 
by a great tumult in the streets. Hurrying out 
to ascertain its cause, he found a vast crowd, 
mostly Jews, following one of the Beylical en- 
tourage, who was making the following proc- 
lamation: ‘‘ Every Jew who, within twenty- 
four hours after the issue of this proclamation, 
shall be found in any street of Tunis without 
a black beaver hat on his head, a green shawl 
round his shoulders, and silk stockings on his 
legs, shall be forthwith seized and conveyed to 
the first court of our palace, where he will be 
publicly flogged to death.’? Within an hour 
the French merchant’s shop was besieged by 
Jews eager to pay him any price he chose to 
ask for his derelict cargo of black hats, green 
shawls and red silk stockings. 

If the foregoing tale proves anything, it 
proves hatred of the Jews and love for the 
French, and if that state of affairs does not 
exist to its fullest extent in Tunis to-day, every 


364 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


competent observer can but remark that the 
Tunisian, be he Jew or Berber, under com- 
bined French and Beylical rule is very well 
cared for indeed. 

The life of Tunis is, as might be supposed, 
very mixed. A Tunisian Arab will sometimes 
marry a European, though not often; but never 
a Jewess. There is a tale of a certain Arab 
shopkeeper of the Souk d’Etoffes who married 
a stranger from overseas. How the tryst was 
carried on is not stated, but married they were, 
and of course everybody was shocked; not be- 
cause it was everybody’s business, but because 
it was nobody’s business. 

‘‘ Does she really love him?’’ asked the 
ladies around the tea-tables at the Tunisia Pal- 
ace Hotel when the tale was recounted. 

‘¢ Well, they look happy,’’ said the discov- 
erer of the ménage, ‘‘ and joy lasts seven days, 
or seven years, they say.’’ 

‘‘ Tt makes me just sick,’’ said a new-made 
bride, doing her honeymoon in the Mediter- 
ranean. 

‘How long has she been married? ’’ asked 
another; this time a spinster. 

‘‘ Oh, about two years, and they tell me she 
gets thinner and thinner each year. It’s the 


Tunis and the Souks 365 


case of oil and water, — the East and the West, 
— they can’t mix.’’ 

This was only gossip, of course, but it was 
a sign of the times. 

The population of Tunis is the most interest- 
ing of all nations under the sun, particularly 
of a spring or autumn evening as it sits on 
the broad terrace of one of the boulevard cafés, 
well dressed and gay, and the Arab the gayest 
of them all. The Arab of Tunis, when he ar- 
rives to a certain distinction, dresses in robes 
of silk, and silk stockings, too, which he holds 
up over his bare calves with a ‘‘ Boston gar- 
ter,’’ or a very good imitation thereof. Cer- 
tainly an Arab whose burnous, hatk, gandurah, 
caftan, socks, and garters are silk must be a 
‘“ personage.”’ 

A eurious thing to be remarked in the cafés 
of Tunis is the avidity with which the exiled 
French population devours the Paris papers 
upon the arrival of the mail-boat. Another 
curious thing is the fact that the newsboys sell 
them in twos and threes; there not being a 
mail every day, they arrive in bunches of two, 
three, and sometimes four. One glances at the 
last one first, but reads it last, at least most 
people do it that way. It’s human nature. 


366 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Throughout Tunis’ Arab quarter the wide- 
spread hand of Fatmah as a sign of good luck 
is seen everywhere. It may be stencilled on 
some shop window, painted over the chimney 
in a Moorish eafé, or even stained upon the 
flank of a horse or donkey. The main de Fat- 
mah is the ‘‘ good-luck ’’ charm of the Arab, 
and, as a souvenir to be carried away by the 
stranger, in the form of a bangle or watch- 
charm, is about the most satisfactory and char- 
acteristic thing that can be had. 

After the souks, the palaces and mosques 
are of chief interest to the traveller. One may 
not enter the mosques— the French authori- 
ties hold the temple of the Mussulman’s God 
inviolate; but the Dar el Bey and the Bardo, 
the chief administrative buildings of the na- 
tive government, may be checked off the inde- 
fatigable tourist’s list of ‘‘ things to see; ’’ as 
have been Bunker Hill Monument, the Paris 
Morgue, and Ellen Terry’s cottage at Win- 
chelsea, for presumably these have been 
‘‘ done ’’ first. Such is the craze for seeing 
sights without knowing what they all mean. 
‘Ts it old? ’’ ‘‘ Does the King, Prince, Bey, 
or Sultan really live there?’’ ‘‘ And are the 
blood-spots real? ’’ are fair representatives of 


wom 


= 
= 
= 








Tunis and the Souks 367 


the class of information which most conven- 
tional tourists demand. 

The great gates of the inner Arab city of 
Tunis are most fascinating, with their swarm- 
ing hordes of passers-by and their grim battle- 
mented walls and towers. The new boule- 
varded streets circle the old town, and an elec- 
tric tramway runs in either direction from the 
Port de France back again to the Port de 
France. Outside, all is twentieth-century ; 
within, all is a couple of hundred years behind 
the times at least. 

High up above all, behind the Dar el Bey 
and overlooking the roof-tops of the souks and 
the town below, is the Kasba and the quaintly 
decorated minaret of its mosque, the oldest 
in Tunis, and quite the finest of all the decora- 
tive minarets of the world of Islam. 

Other mosque minarets at Tunis are svelt 
and beautiful, dainty and more or less ornate, 
but they lack the massive luxuriance of that 
of the Kasba, which was the work, be it re- 
called, of Italian infidels, not of Mussulman 
faithful. 

Within the charmed circle of the outer boule- 
vards Tunis’ Arab town has an appearance as 
archaic as one may expect to find in these pro- 


368 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


gressive days. Veiled women are everywhere, 
and turbaned; high-coiffed, fat, wobbly Jew- 
esses, and Sicilians and Maltese with poignards 
in their belts. It’s a mixed crew indeed that 
makes up the life and movement of Tunis. 
This impression is heightened still further when 
you see the Bey drive by in state in a dingy 
earrliage drawn by six black, silver-harnessed 
mules, the outriders yelling, ‘‘ Arri! Arri! 
Arri!’’ like the donkey-boys of the more ple- 
beian world. This sight is followed in the 
twinkling of an eye by a caravan of camels and 
nomads of the desert; then perhaps a couple 
of gaily painted Sicilian carts; an automobile 
of a very early vintage; another more modern 
(the dermer cri, in fact), and finally a troop 
of little bourriquets, grain-laden, making their 
way westward into the open country. This 
moving panorama, or another as varied, will 
pass you inside half an hour as you sit on the 
terrace of the café opposite the Residency. 

At Bab Souika, just without the Arab town, 
and passed by the tram en route for the Kasba, 
is the centre of the popular animation of native 
life. In the Halfaouine quarter are the Moor- 
ish cafés, at Bab Dyjedid still another aspect 
of Arab loafing and idling, and all of it pic- 
turesque to the extreme. 


Le 


Tunis and the Souks 369 


The Jewish dancers of the cafés of the Place 
Sidi-Baian are recommended as “ sights to be 
seen ’’ by Baedeker and Jouanne. These dan- 
cers have eyes like merlans frits, and the ventre 
doré, and are of the same variety that one has 
become accustomed to on the ‘‘ Midway ’”’ and 






DANCING GIRLS 
AETUNIS 


B.mMeM. 1907 


NESS 


the ‘‘ Pike,’’ and in the ‘‘ Streets of Cairo,’’ 
which have made the rounds of recent exposi- 
tions. They are no better nor no worse. The 
only difference is that here at Biskra, at Con- 
stantine, and at Tunis one sees things on their 
native heath. 

Everything in the way of a ceremonial at 
Tunis centres around the Bey and the Resi- 
dent-General. The Bey gives a function at the 
Bardo or at his palace at La Marsa, and the 


370 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Governor-General attends. The Resident-Gen- 
eral has a reception at the Residency, and the 
Bey drives up behind his six black mules, and, 
with the first interpreter of his palace, goes in 
and pays his respects to the representative of 
Republican France, the real ruler of the ‘‘ Ré- 
gence.’’ ‘*‘ Bon jour’’—‘‘ Au revoir,’’ is 
about the extent of the conversation expected 
at such functions, and with these simple words 
said, the ceremony is over. But it is 1mpress- 
ive while it lasts, with much gold lace, much 
bowing and scraping, much music and much 
helter-skeltering of the entourage here, there, 
and everywhere. 

Republican France still holds out for cere- 
mony, and the President’s ‘‘ Chasse Natio- 
nale ’’ each year at Rambouillet is still remi- 
niscent of ‘‘ La Chasse Royale ’’ of other days. 
Not so our bear-hunts in Louisiana cane- 
breaks. The Bey of Tunis is still the titular 
head of his people and their religion, but the 
hand that rules the destiny of his Régence is 
that of the representative of the French Re- 
public. 


CHAPTER XXIII 
IN THE SHADOW OF THE MOSQUE 


Oxtp Tunis fortunately remains old Tunis. 
It has not been spoiled, as has Algiers, in a 
way. Its crooked streets and culs-de-sae are 
still as they were when pachas kept their ha- 
rems well filled as a matter of right, and not 
by the toleration of the French government. 

Surrounding the vast spider’s web of narrow 
streets of old Tunis is a circling line of tram- 
way, within which is as Oriental an aspect as 
that of old (save the electric lights and the 
American sewing-machines, which are every- 
where). Without this magic circle, all bustles 
with the cosmopolitan clamour which we fondly 
designate twentieth-century progress and pro- 
fess to like: automobiles, phonographs, type- 
writing machines, railway trains, great hotels, 
cafés and restaurants, always the same wher- 
ever found. 

There is quite as much life and movement in 
the souks of the old town of Tunis as on the 
boulevards of the Huropean quarter, and it 1s 

371 


372 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


quite as feverish, but with a difference. The 
perfume-makers of the Souk des Parfums still 
pound their leaves and blossoms by hand in a 
mortar, and the saddle and shoe makers still 
stitch and embroider by hand the gold-threaded 
arabesques of their ancestors. You can get 
all the products of the souks, of the made- 
in-Belgium variety, which look quite like the 
real thing, but in fact are but base ‘‘ Dutch 
metal,’’ unworthy of Arab, Turk, or Jew, and 
only fit for strangers. Here in the souks you 
must know how to ‘‘ shop.’’ In Tunis, more 
than in any other city along the Mediterranean, 
one must know how to sift the dross from the 
fine metal, and only too frequently the dealer 
himself will not give you the frank counsel that 


you need. 
Just off the Souk des Grains is the ‘‘ Street 
of the Pearls.’’ In this romantically named 


thoroughfare, and huddled close beneath the 
squat, mushroom domes of the Mosque of Sidi- 
Mahrez is a great brass-studded and_ bolted 
doorway, closing an entrance between two svelt 
marble columns, stolen from Carthage long ago 
by some unscrupulous Turk or Arab. Above 
is a great Moorish horseshoe arch. This is the 
sole entrance to a magnificent, typical Oriental 
establishment, built three hundred years since 


In the Shadow of the Mosque 373 


by some Turkish pacha fled from Constantino- 
ple for political reasons and his country’s good. 

Not long since the proprietor of this fine old 
house was ‘‘ sold out.’’ He wasn’t exactly a 
‘‘ poor miserable,’’ but the establishment he 
was keeping up was not in keeping with the 
lining of his purse. He was not as his fore- 
fathers, who, if they toiled not nor yet did spin, 
had the good luck to gather riches by some 
means or other while they lived. Whilst he, 
on a scant patrimony to which nothing was 
being added, was going the pace a little too 
fast. 

His creditors called in the bailiff, and the 
bailiff called in the auctioneer, and the “‘ bel 
immeuble,’’ a ** vaste batement 380 métres car- 
rés, avec cour, fontaine et plusieures pieces 
au rez-de-chaussée, et balcon,’’ was put up at 
auction. 

There were no takers, it appeared, — at the 
price. The ‘‘ knock-down ’’ was thirty thou- 
sand francs, and it was worth it, the finest 
house in the Oriental quarter of Tunis, high 
and dry and built of marble and tile, and safe- 
guarded by the pigeons de bonheur, which 
lodged on the great central dome of the mosque 
which overhung the roof-top terrace. 

French and Italians, and strangers of all 


374 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


nationalities (including some affected Mussul- 
mans as well), were piling themselves story 
upon story in great apartment houses in the 
flat, monotonous new town below, laid out on 
what a quarter of a century ago was a reedy 
marsh. 

Not one of them would consider for a mo- 
ment the question of taking on this fine estab- 
lishment for a dwelling all his own. They all 
had their summer-houses out: at Carthage, 
where they were spoiling the landscape, as well 
as that magnificent historic site, by erecting 
villas of questionable taste. For their town 
dwellings these ambitious folk were one and all 
bent on living in a flat. 

It was in this manner that this fine example 
of Oriental domicile fell to our friend, the at- 
taché of the Embassy. He, at least, knew a 
good thing when he saw it, and, though he was 
a bachelor (and never for a moment thought 
of setting up a harem in the vast zenana at the 
rear), he relished with good will the delights 
of dwelling in marble halls of his own, — par- 
ticularly such splendid ones. 

It was a problem as to what our friend 
should do, on account of the great size of the 
many apartments of this Moorish-Arab house; 


In the Shadow of the Mosque 375 


but lke the Japanese and the Moors them- 
selves, he did not make the mistake of filling 
them with trumpery bric-A-brac and saddle-bag 
furniture. 

It was more or less a great undertaking for 
a young man to whom housekeeping had hith- 
erto been an unknown accomplishment, — this 
taking of a great house to live in all alone. 
For days and weeks, as occasion offered, he 
stalked its marble halls and pictured the ‘‘ Ara- 
bian Nights ’’ over again, and hazarded many 
soft and sentimental imaginings as to the per- 
sonalities of the veiled beauties who once made 
it their home. 

Our friend’s first possession was a servant, 
of the indefinable species called simply a 
‘‘man servant;’’ he at any rate could keep 
the marbles white and the tiles burnished, and 
the dust from out the crevices of: the carved 
stone vaultings, if there was nothing else to do. 

The serving man was readily enough found. 
He bore the name of Habib, the Algerian, at 
least that was the translation that he gave in 
French of its queer Arab characters, though his 
explanation as to how he came to descend from 
parents who were born in Kairouan, the Holy 
City of Tunisia, and still have the suffix of 


376 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


““ the Algerian ’’ tacked on at the end, was not 
very lucid. 

Habib was gentle and faithful, but vain and 
superstitious. To begin with, he was perfectly 
willing to become a part and parcel of the 
ménage; but he must take rank as a body- 
servant (whatever his duties might be), and 
would not be a mere caretaker or a concierge. 
For that M’sieu René must have a Moroccan, 
the chiens fidéles of North African concierges, 
or he must go without. Sleep in the house 
Habib would not; the spirits of past dwellers 
—some of them perhaps wraiths of folk who 
had been murdered — would rise up in the dark 
hours and prevent that; of that he was sure. 
Stranger infidels might not believe in spooks 
and spirits, but it was a part of Habib’s faith 
that he should not put himself in a position 
where they might destroy his rest. Nothing 
of the kind had ever happened to him up to 
now, but the fear was always present, and he 
was minded to take all possible precautions. 

Habib ultimately capitulated, and came to 
‘* sleeping in.’’ He made his plans stealthily 
for taking up his residence under the shadow 
of the mosque. Though Habib’s belongings 
were few, his preparations for moving in were 
elaborate and lengthy. 


In the Shadow of the Mosque 377 


Habib had not much more than the clothes 
on his back, — and a silver-headed cane, with- 
out which he never walked the streets of the 
European quarter, day or night. ‘‘ In the 
Arab town you were safe,’’ he said, ‘‘ but ‘ la- 
bas,’ with all the civilized and cosmopolitan 
riffraff of a great Mediterranean seaport, 
one’s life.was not worth a piastre without a 
weapon of defence.’’ 

You must have a license to carry a revolver 
in Tunis, a permission which the authorities 
do not readily grant to an Arab; and anyway 
Habib was afraid of firearms (he was afraid 
of most everything, as it appeared later, even 
work), so he resorted to a cane. 

With Habib’s clothes on his back, and his 
cane, arrived a little plush pillow about the size 
of a pincushion. This was to be his protection 
against the real, or fancied, evil spirits which 
he still believed were lurking away between the 
walls, as indeed they probably had been for 
centuries. This little plush cushion had been 
deftly fashioned for him, doubtless, by some 
veiled Fatmah or Zorah. It may have honestly 
been thought by its maker, and of course by 
Habib, to be an effective antidote for the wiles 
of roving spirits, but certainly no one would 
ever attribute to it the least virtues as a pillow. 


378 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 








The Japanese wooden head-rest were prefer- 
able to Habib’s spirit-charmer for wooing Mor- 
pheus. 

Habib at last had taken the fatal step, he 
had become a part and parcel of the establish- 
ment. To be sure he had not much to do; the 
new patron, being alone, had furnished only 
a part of the chambers, apartments, and salons 
in semi-European fashion, and Habib’s chief 
duties consisted only in ‘‘ turning them out ’’ 
in succession, on consecutive days, and putting 
them in order again. There is not a great 
quantity of grime and dirt that ever penetrates 
beyond the courtyard of an Arab house, and 
the actual labour of keeping it clean would 
please the indolent mind of the laziest ‘‘ maid 
of all work ’’ that ever lived. 

Habib handled the situation as well as might 
be expected — for a time. Afterwards he fell 
off a bit. He was faithful, obliging, smiling 
and sentimental, but he still slept bad o’ nights, 
or said he did. The powers of his pincushion 
pillow were evidently negative or neutral so 
far as the particular spirits which lodged here 
were concerned. 

With his new station in life Habib came to 
an increased importance, and from a loose 
white cotton robe or burnous, he came to be the 


In the Shadow of the Mosque 379 


proud possessor of a flowing creation in crim- 
son silk which was the envy of all his aequaint- 
ances. Beneath it he wore a yellow embroid- 
ered vest, red silk stockings, and yellow boots 
of Morocco leather, not really boots, nor yet 
shoes, but a sort of a cross between a shoe and 
a moccasin, which cost him the extravagant 
sum of twenty francs, half a month’s pay. 

On his head was perched the conventional 
red Tunisian fez, with an inordinately long 
tassel dangling down behind, as effective a 
chasse-mouches as one would want. This was 
not all. <A dollar watch, with a silver-gilt chain 
and fob of quaint Kabyle workmanship, — 
worth probably twenty times the value of the 
watch, — completed his personal adornment. 

As an accessory, Habib became the prowl 
possessor of a visiting-card, which, more than 
all else, was successful in impressing his con- 
fréres and the neighbouring shopkeepers with 
his importance. 

They imagined him, doubtless, a sort of sene- 
schal or majordomo of some kingdom in little. 

Habib bore his honours lightly and gaily. 
There was not much fault to be found with 
him, simply from the fact that he had-so little 
to do that he would be a numskull indeed if 
he could not, or would not, perform it well. 


380 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


He did perform his duties well, ordinarily, but 
the first time a good round day’s work fell to 
his share, such as cleaning down the walls and 
mopping up the whole area of marbled floor, 
he rendered an account for the services of 
‘‘ quatre juifs, quarante sous.’’ Forty cents 
for the services of four house-cleaners for a 
day is not dear, and Habib was not even of 
the same faith as his workmen, so the chdtelain 





Habib’s Visiting Card 


paid it gracefully in the next week’s account 
which Habib rendered. 

Habib’s bookkeeping was as original as him- 
self. His accounts for the house-cleaning week 
read as follows: 


Quatre juifs 2 fes. 
Lait en boite 
(pour le matou) 1 
GAteau de miel 
(pour la gazelle) 60 centimes 
Divers 
(tortue, etc.) 1 20 


Totaux a payer de suite 4 fcs, 80 centimes 


In the Shadow of the Mosque 381 


How he made both ends meet with the sum 
total of his modest budget was ever a problem 
with our friend. 

The city-bred Arab has the reputation of 
being unreliable in money matters, but cer- 
tainly the hidden graft lying dormant in four 
franes eighty centimes can not be very great 
after paying two francs for four Jews, a franc 
for condensed milk for the cat, sixty centimes 
for honey-cakes for the gazelle, and a franc 
twenty centimes for sundry and diverse odds 
and ends like soap, metal-polish, barley for 
the turtle, ete. Habib was certainly a good 
thing! 

Habib’s chief pride in the house and its be- 
longings was for the cat, the gazelle, and the 
turtle, each of them gifts from the same amiable 
youth. Perhaps he had no place to keep them 
himself, and in this he saw an opportunity of 
getting them housed and fed free. Habib may 
have been wiser than he looked, but at any rate 
here the menagerie came to be installed as 
proper and picturesque occupants of this mar- 
ble palace of other days. 

The cat is a useful and even necessary ani- 
mal in any home, and its virtues have often 
been praised. <A gazelle is purely decorative, 
but as agreeable and affectionate a little beast 


382 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


as ever lived. The turtle catches flies and lives 
in a pool of the fountain, and is also useful 
in keeping down microbes which might other- 
wise be disseminated. This array of live stock 
ought to be an adjunct of every house with a 
fountain courtyard, and if it can be had on the 
terms as supplied by the faithful Habib, not 
forgetting the small cost of the animals’ keep, 
why so much the better. 

The particular quarter where our friend’s 
house was situated was indeed the most 
quaintly variegated one in all Tunis. At Bab- 
Souika one turned sharply and entered a veri- 
table labyrinth of narrow, twisting streets, 
never arriving at the great gate of the house 
by the same itinerary. Sometimes you arrived 
directly, and sometimes you circled and tacked 
like a ship at sea. 

From the Place Bab-Souika itself, whence 
radiated a burning fever of the Arab life of 
all the ten tribes, it was but the proverbial 
stone’s throw, by a bird’s-eye view from the 
roof-top terrace, though by the twisting lanes 
and alleys it was perhaps a kilometre. There 
was an occultism and Orientalism here that 
was to be seen nowhere else in North Africa, 
and for ‘‘ mystery ’’ it beat that of the des- 
ert, over which poets and novelists rave, all 


In the Shadow of the Mosque 383 


to pieces. No one but an Arab and a Mussul- 
man could ever be a part of that wonderful 
kaleidoscopic chapter of life. We poor dogs of 
infidels can only stand by and wonder. 

All mght long the Place Bab-Sonika was as 
animated as in the day. It was fringed with 
many Moorish cafés, interspersed with the 
éechoppes of the Tunisian Jews, who push in 
everywhere, and make a living off of pickings 
that others think too trivial for their talents. 
A few boulevard-like trees flank a group of 
transformed and remodelled Arab houses and 
give a suspicion of modernity, but the general 
aspect throughout is Oriental and medieval. 
A regular ant-hill of hiving humanity: Moors, 
Arabs, Turks, Jews, Soudanese, and Touaregs, 
all with costumes as varied as their origins. 
Here a creamy-white burnous jostles with a 
baggy blue pantalon, and the cowled nodding 
head of a Bedouin rests on the shoulder of an 
equally somnolent red-fezzed soldier of the 
Bey. The more wide-awake members of the 
hangers-on of the cafés enliven the scene with 
singing and even dancing, perhaps with some 
Tunisian dancing-girl as a partner. All is gay 
and scintillating as if it were the most gor- 
geous café of the Boulevard des Italiens. One 
and all of the merrymakers are richly cos- 


384 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


tumed, with broidered vests and flowing robes 
of silk, and clattering silver ornaments and 
bouquets of flowers, — or a single flower stuck 
behind the ear, like the Spaniard’s cigarette. 
All blends into a wonderful fanfare of colour, 
and it was through this stage-setting our 
friend had to pass every night as he made his 
way from the European town below to his Arab 
house on the height. 

The Oriental, when he is making merry at a 
café, is wholly indifferent to the affairs of the 
workaday world, if he ever did occupy himself 
therewith. His point of view is peculiarly his 
own; we outsiders will never appreciate it, 
study the question as we may. 

Besides the Moorish cafés, the fruit and 
sweetmeat sellers seem also to do as large a 
midnight traffic as that of the day. The after- 
theatre supper of the Arab, if he were given 
to that sort of thing, would not be difficult of 
consummation here. 

The Arab old-clo’ dealer is another habitué 
of the neighbourhood. ‘‘ T’meniach! ra sour- 
dis! T’meniach ’ra T’meniach!’’ This is the 
Arab’s old clothes ery. And for a hundred 
sous, paid over on the Place Bab-Souika, you 
ean be transformed into a Bedouin from head 
to heel, — with a ragged burnous full of holes 


In the Shadow of the Mosque 385 


and a pair of very-much-down-at-the-heel ba- 
bouches which have already trod off untold 
kilometres on the Tunisian highway and are 
good for many more. 

There is another class of ambulant merchant 
who is a frequenter of this most animated of 
Tunis’ native quarter. He deals in a better 
line of goods, in that his wares are new and 
not second-hand, though tawdry enough, many 
of them. If you wish you may buy — after 
appropriate and not to be avoided bargaining, 
at which you will probably come off second 
best —a collaret of false sequins, an Arab 
blanket, or a Turkish ink-pot, which may not 
be old in spite of its looks. All these things 
are made to order to-day, after the ancient 
models and styles, like the cotton goods of 
India with palm-leaf designs, which are mostly 
made in Manchester. 

“* Veux-tu un foulard, Sidi, un beau foulard 
de Tounis? Vors achéte-moi ce poignard Ka- 
byle! Trens, veux-tu ce bracelet pour ma- 
dame?’’ You want none of these things, but 
you make out as if you did and accordingly you 
buy ‘‘ something ’’ before you are through, 
euiltily thinking you have taken advantage of 
the poor fellow in that you beat him down from 
fifteen franes to five for a foulard which cost 


386 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


him, probably, not more than thirty sous of 
some Israelite ‘‘ fournisseur ’’ in the souks. 

One day Habib the Algerian would work no 
more. He had succumbed to a bad case of the 
wandering foot, though what brought it about, 
save the ennui of his position, — not enough 
work to do — our friend René never knew. It 
was doubtful if Habib knew himself. It was 
as if the termination of Habib’s name had set 
him to thinking. Habib the Algerian! Why 
should he not travel a bit, as did these dogs 
of Christians who were overrunning his be- 
loved land, to Algeria even, he who bore the 
name of the Algerian, though he had lived since 
his infaney beneath the shadow of Tunis’ 
mosques. 

‘Ow vas-tu? ’’? asked his employer, as Ha- 
bib’s bag and baggage were on the door-sill, a 
parcel of worldly goods now grown to some pro- 
portions, including a nickel alarm-clock, a pho- 
nograph, and an oil-stove. American products 
all of them. 

““Moi? En Algérie!’’ answered Habib in 
jerky, limpid French. 

“* Bt pourquor? ”’ 

“* Pourquoi? Pour rien. Pour aller. Ch- 
min-di-fi andar plus vite que chevil. Houl 


In the Shadow of the Mosque 387 





Hou! Hou! ’’ he continued, attempting to imi- 
tate the wheezy locomotives of the Bona- 
Guelma line, which link Tunisia with Algeria, 
his eyes meanwhile expressing the joy of an 
infant. 

The travel fever was on with Habib; it had 
struck in, even as it had before now with some 
of the rest of us. 

That was the last that was seen or heard of 
Habib the Algerian, except that we caught a 
glimpse of him at the railway station as he 
was pushing insistently into a third-class car- 
riage already full to overflowing with other 
wandering, huddling Arabs, who, too, thought 
with Habib that the ‘‘ chimin-di-fi andar plus 
vite que li chivil. Hou! Hou! Hou! ’’ 

This was probably but the beginning of an- 
other chapter of Habib’s history; but now that 
he was gone he had passed from mind. But he 
had left the gazelle, the cat, the goldfish and 
the turtle behind. It was as if a part of the 
old house itself had been wrenched away. Ha- 
bib had become a part and parcel of the whole 
machine, and in spite of his shortcomings he 
fitted in with things in a marvellously compe- 
tent manner. No other soft-footed Arab could 
quite take his place, and many were triedwentne 


388 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


eat ate the goldfish, the turtle mysteriously dis- 
appeared up or down a spout, and the gazelle 
died of a broken heart, or because of the irreg- 
ularity of the supply of honey-cakes. 

With such sad memories our friend René had 
to desert his ‘‘ maison arabe,’’ where he had 
lived so comfortably, and go and live in a flat 
in the new town below, where the view from 
the windows was comprised principally of a 
kiosque of the Paris boulevard variety, a row 
of taximétre cabs, and the seven-story facade 
of another apartment house on the other side 
of the street. 

There is a fine old Arab house at Tunis, mid- 
way between the ‘‘ Residency ’’ and the Kasba, 
still for rent, if any there be who think they 
would care to undertake the struggle of keep- 
ing it running in proper order. It has many 
things in its favour, and some which are mani- 
festly against it, the chief of these last being 
the difficulty of solving the servant question. 
It is the same question which ruffles household- 
ers the world over, in Tunis as in Toledo, in 
Kairouan as in Kalamazoo. 


CHAPTER XXIV 
THE GLORY THAT ONCE WAS CARTHAGE 


CartHace, redolent of the memories of Dido, 
of AMneas, of Hannibal, of Cato, of Scipio, and 
a thousand other classic souvenirs of history, 
is the chief sight for tourists in the neighbour- 
hood of Tunis. All we have learned to expect 
is there, deformed ruins and relics of a gran- 
deur long since past. The aqueduct which 
plays so grand a role in the opera of ‘‘ Sa- 
lambo ’’ is there, but it is manifestly Roman 
and not Punie. Thus did Flaubert nod, as in- 
deed did Homer before him. 

Carthage, as Carthage is to-day, 1s not much. 
It is but a vast, conglomerate mass of fragmen- 
tary ruins, a circus whose outlines can scarcely 
be traced, a very much ruined amphitheatre, 
various ground-plans of great villas of other 
days, the cisterns of the Romans, some Punic 
tombs, and the two ports of Carthage around 
which history, romance and legend have woven 
many tales. The rest is modern, the great ba- 
silica of St. Louis, the palaces of the Bey, and 

389 


390 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


the princes of his family, the villas of the for- 
eign consuls, the seminary of the White Fa- 
thers and a hotel or two. That is Carthage 
to-day. ) 

Thus the history and romance of a past day 
must supply the motive for the visitors’ emo- 
tions, for there is little else save the magnifi- 
cent site and the knowledge that one is treading 
historic ground. The tract might well have 
been made a sort of national park, and kept 
inviolate; but it has been given over to the 
land exploiter like Tottenham Park and South 
New York, and the overflow from Tunis is al- 
ready preémpting choice plots. 

Through the gates of the Venice of Antiq- 
uity, all the wealth of the East was brought 
to be stored in the warehouses of the ports of 
Carthage, but to-day all this is only an historic 
memory. The palaces and warehouses have 
disappeared, and the two mud-puddle ‘‘ ports”’ 
have silted up into circular pools which glisten 
in the African sunlight like mirrors of antiq- 
uity, — which is exactly what they are. 

Carthage, or what is left of it, is a dozen or 
fifteen kilometres from Tunis, by a puffing little 
steam-tram (to be supplanted some day by an 
electric railway, which will be even less in keep- 


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One gets off at La Malga, and, in a round 
of half a dozen kilometres ‘‘ does ’’ Carthage, 
Sidi-bou-Said, and La Marsa in the conven- 
tional manner in half a day. If he, or she, is 
an artist or an archeologist, he, or she, spends 
a day, a week, or a month, and then will have 
eause to return if opportunity offers. 

According to tradition the Tyrians founded 
Carthage in 813 B.c., being conducted thither 
by Elissa, a progressive young woman, the sis- 
ter of Pygmalion. Cart-hadchat was its orig- 
inal name, which the Romans evolved into Car- 
thago, signifying ‘‘the new city,’’ that is to say, 
probably, the ‘‘ New Tyre.’’ Owing to its 
proximity to Sicily, to all the vast wealth of 
Africa, and the undeveloped and unexplored 
shores of the Western Mediterranean, Car- 
thage was bound to prosper. As Tyre fell into 
decadence, and the Greeks menaced the Phe- 
nicians in the Kast, Carthage came to its own 
very rapidly, not by a mushroom growth, as 
with new-made cities of to-day, but still rap- 
idly for its epoch. 

The riches of the people of Carthage became 
immense, every one prospered, and its mer- 
chants trafficked with the Soudan and sailed 
the seas to Britain, while Hanno, the Cartha- 
ginian admiral, first discovered and explored 


392 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


the full extent of the West African Atlantic 
coast. 

In the first Punic war Carthage disputed the 
ownership of Sicily with Rome, but without 
success; though indeed she was able to hold 
the gateway of the Western Mediterranean, 
and thus remain mistress of the trade with the 
outside world. 

With the second Punic war Carthage lost 
further prestige, and her military and mari- 
time strength was reduced to such an extent 
that her hitherto vast African Empire was re- 
stricted to the city itself and a closely bounding 
suburban area. 

Even then Carthage ranked as the richest 
city in the world, with a population of 700,000 
souls. In the year 146 3.c. the Romans rose 
again and gave Carthage a sweeping knock- 
out blow so far as its independence went. 

Cesar and Augustus came, and the city, peo- 
pled anew, was restored to something resem- 
bling its former magnificent lines and made the 
capital of the Roman African Province. A 
commercial city, wealthy, luxurious, gay, and 
cultivated, it became, next to Rome, the first 
Latin city of the Occident. 

Christianity was introduced in the early cen- 


The Glory That Once Was Carthage 393 


turies, and through the gateway of Carthage 
was spread over all North Africa. Religious 
partisanship was as rife and violent here as 
elsewhere, and Tertullian tells how, in the 
great circus amphitheatre, whose scantly out- 
lined ruins are still to be seen as one leaves 
the railway at La Malga, Saint Perpétua and 
her companions were put to death by fero- 
cious beasts, and how, in 258 a.p., Saint Cyp- 
rien, who was bishop at the time, was mar- 
tyred. 

The Vandals captured the city in 4389 a.p., 
and the Byzantine powers under Justinian’s 
general, Belisarius, got it all back again in 
533 a.p., though they held it but a hundred and 
sixty years. The city finally succumbed, in the 
seventh century, to Hassan-ben-Nomane, who 
destroyed it completely. How completely this 
destruction was one may judge by a contem- 
plation of the ruins to-day. The Tunisians and 
the Italians have used the site as a quarry 
for centuries, and Pisa’s cathedral was con- 
structed in no small part from marbles and 
stone from glorious Carthage. 

Dido, Hannibal, and Salambo have passed 
away, and with them the glory of Carthage. 
To-day tourists come and go, the ‘‘ White F'a- 


394 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


thers ’’ exploit their vineyards, and the pro- 
moters sell land in this new subdivision to the 
profit, the great profit — of some one. 

The Punic remains at Carthage, the tombs 
and other minor constructions, are of course 
few (the Musée Lavigerie on the height now 
guarding all the discoveries of value). But the 
fragments of the great civic buildings of the 
Romans are everywhere scattered about. 

These ruins cannot even be detailed here, 
and the plan herewith will serve as a much bet- 
ter guide than a mere perfunctory catalogue. 

Various erudite historical accounts and 
guide-books have been written concerning this 
historic ground; shorter works, of more inter- 
est to the tourist, can be had in the Tunis 
book-shops. 

The discoveries of the last ten years on the 
site of the ancient Carthage have been many 
and momentous. They are of intense interest, 
revealing a people who possessed a far higher 
development than had been supposed, and who 
were, contrary to the general belief in modern 
times, something more than mere traffickers 
and merchants, and who evolved an art of their 
own, a unique and fascinating blend of the 
ideals of the Semitic and the Greek. 

Our knowledge of the Pheenicians is still 


The Glory That Once Was Carthage 395 





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396 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


shadowy and fragmentary; but the work con- 
ducted by the ‘‘ White Fathers ”’ of Carthage, 
under the direction of Pére Delattre, has pro- 
vided at least a foundation for further re- 
searches and comparisons, which no doubt will 
soon be undertaken. 

The recent discoveries of Carthage may well 
be described as fascinating. Take for example 
the sarcophagus of a Pheenician priestess un- 
earthed in 1902. It is believed that she lived 
in the third century s.c. The coloured marble 
sarcophagus is of the best period of Greek 
workmanship. A Greek carved this tomb, no 
doubt, but in the representation of the priest- 
ess we have a figure of a type unlike any 
Greek art known, —a type of beauty delight- 
fully strange, a countenance of a noble love- 
liness and charm. 

A sympathetic French archéologue puts it in 
the following words: 

‘¢The brilliancy of colour and strangeness 
of attire, far from detracting from the dignity 
of her presence, seem to enhance the noble sim- 
plicity and reserve suggested by the figure. A 
rare and lovely personality seems to have been 
the inspiration of the sculptor. She was not 
a Greek, nor an Kgyptian, and the Semitic fea- 
tures are hardly recognizable. The dove in 


The Glory That Once Was Carthage 397 


the figure’s right hand may well be taken as 
a symbol of her own gentle beauty and sweet- 
ness. Surely this is a pure type of Phcenician 
womanhood. That majestic calm which is the 
outward and visible sign of the highest cour- 
age within comports well with the reputation 
of the women of Carthage, and their bearing 
in that terrible siege which tried them unto 
death.”’ 

This is the sort of sentiment which still 
hovers over Carthage; but to sense it to the 
full, one must know the city’s history in detail, 
and not merely by a hurried half a day round, 
out from Tunis and back between breakfast 
and dinner. Another recent find is the un- 
earthed Roman palace built up over an old 
Punic burial-place. Luxurious, though of di- 
minutive proportions, this palace, or villa, pos- 
sesses a pavement in mosaic worthy to rank 
with that classic example of the Villa Hadrian 
at Tivoli. It may be seen to-day at the Musée, 
and is one of the things to be noted down by 
even the hurried traveller. 

En route from Tunis to Bizerta, thirty-five 
kilometres from the former city and about the 
same from Carthage, is the ancient Utica, 
founded by the Pheenicians centuries before the 
beginning of the Christian era, and which, 


398 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


after the destruction of Carthage, became the 
first city of Africa. 

To-day the domain of Bou-Chateur, belong- 
ing to a M. Chabannes, contains all that re- 
mains above ground of this vassal city of Car- 
thage. Once a seaport of importance, like Car- 


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thage, it gradually succumbed to a sort of dry 
rot and is no more. 

The remains existing to-day are extensive, 
but very fragmentary. Only bare outlines are 
here and there visible; but from them some 
one has been able to construct a plan of the 
city on something approaching its former lines. 

Immediately neighbouring upon Carthage is 
Sidi-bou-Said, easily the most picturesque vil- 
lage around Tunis, if one excepts the low-lying 


HIPPODROME 


The Glory That Once Was Carthage 399 


fishing village of La Goulette, better known 
by its Italian name of La Goletta. La Goulette 
itself played an important role in the sixteenth 
eentury. Charles V occupied it in 1535, and it 
became a fortified stronghold of the Spanish; 
but in spite of the fact that it was further for- 
tified by Don Juan of Austria, after the battle 
of Lepanto, it was captured by the Turks under 
Sinan-Pacha the following year after a mem- 
orable siege. For the devout, La Goulette is 
of great interest from the fact that Saint Vin- 
cent de Paul was a captive here in the seven- 
teenth century. 

The little inxdigéene village of Sidi-bou-Said 
sits on the promontory called Cap Carthage 
and has a local colour all its own. It is purely 
‘‘native,’? the land agent not yet having 
marked it for his own. The panorama of the 
snow-white walls and domes and turrets of the 
little town, the red-rock base on which it sits, 
the blue sea offshore, and the blue sky over- 
head, is a wonderful sight to the person of 
artistic tastes. Certainly its like is not in Af- 
rica, if elsewhere along the shores of the Medi- 
terranean. 

Beyond Sidi-bou-Said is La Marsa, without 
character or history, save that the Bey’s sum- 
mer palace and the country residences of the 


400 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


foreign consuls are here. The site is delightful 
and looks seaward in most winning fashion. 
On the hillsides round about is grown the grape 
from which is made the celebrated ‘‘ vin blanc 
de Carthage,’’ as much an accompaniment of 
the shrimps of the Lac de Tunis as is the ‘‘ vin 
de Cassis ’”’ of bouillabaisse, or Chablis of oys- 
ters. In the neighbourhood are numerous 
eaves, forming the ancient Jewish necropolis 
of Carthage under Roman domination. 

Due north from Tunis a matter of nearly 
a hundred kilometres is Bizerta, now a French 
Mediterranean naval base as formidable, or at 
any rate as useful, as Gibraltar. It was the 
Hippo-Diarrhytus of the ancients, whose in- 
habitants were at continual warfare with those 
of Carthage. Under the Empire it was a Ro- 
man colony, and in the fifteenth and sixteenth 
centuries became one of the refuges of the 
Moors expelled from Spain. 

The French occupation has made of Bizerta 
and its lake a highly active and prosperous 
neighbourhood, where formerly a scant popu- 
lation of the mixed Mediterranean races gave 
it only the dignity of a fishing village. It 1s 
very picturesque, its waterside, its canals, and 
its quais, but the primitiveness of other days 
is giving way before the moves in the game 


The Glory That Once Was Carthage 401 


of peace and war, until everywhere one hears 
the bustle and groan of ships and shipping, and 
sees clouds of smoke piling up into the cloud- 
less sky from the gaping chimneys of machine- 
shops on shore and torpedo boats and battle- 
ships on the water. It is old Bizerta rubbing 
shoulders with new Bizerta at every step. 
Bizerta is now the most important strategic 
point in the Mediterranean. Gibraltar is cov- 
ered by the Spanish fortifications at Algeciras 
and Ceuta, and Malta is merely a rock-bound 
fortress that could be starved out in a month. 
The Mediterranean is French, —a French lake 
if you will, — as it always has been, and as it al- 
ways will be. Tripoli in Barbary and Morocco, 
when they come under the French flag, as they 
are bound to do, will only accentuate the fact. 


CHAPTER XXV 
THE BARBARY COAST 


THe real Barbary coast of the romantic days 
of the corsairs was the whole North African 
littoral. Here the pirates and corsairs had 
their lairs, their inlet harbours known only to 
themselves and their confréres, who as often 
pillaged and murdered among themselves as 
they did among strangers. 

To-day all this is changed. It was the gov- 
ernment of the United States and Decatur, as 
much as any other outside power, who drove 
the Barbary pirates from the seas. 

Under the reign of Louis XIV Duquesne was 
charged to suppress the piracies of the Tri- 
politan coasts. The celebrated admiral — it 
was he who also gave the original name to the 
site of the present city of Pittsburgh on the 
Monongahela — got down to business once the 
orders were given, sighted eight of the Barbary 
feluccas and gave them chase. They took ref- 
uge in the Sultan’s own port of Chio, but, with 
the French close on their heels, they were 
captured forthwith, and the Pacha of Tripoli 

402 


The Barbary Coast 403 


was forced without more ado to make a treaty 
containing many onerous conditions. The cor- 
sairs gave back a ship which they had taken, 
and all the French who had fallen prisoners in 
their hands and who were virtually held in 
slavery. The admirals of those days had 9 
way of doing things. 

After the French came the English. Blake, 
the British admiral, who never trod the deck 
of a vessel until he was fifty, did his part to 
sweep these fierce Mediterranean pirates of AI- 
geria, Tunisia, and Tripoli from the*’seas. The 
United States Navy did the rest. This is his- 
tory; let those who are further interested look 
it up. 

The North African coast-line from Tunis to 
Tangier has the aspect of much of the rest 
of the Mediterranean littoral, but that strip 
sweeping around from Cap Carthage to Tripoli 
in Barbary, the shores of the great Tripolitan 
gulf, may still furnish the setting for as fierce 
a piratical tale as can be conceived, — only the 
pirates are wanting. 

This low-lying ground south of Tunis is not 
a tourist-beaten ground; it is almost unknown 
and unexplored to the majority of winter trav- 
ellers, who include only Algiers, Biskra, and 
Tunis in their African itinerary. 


404 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


————————————————————oooooeeeeeeeeooooomououeueems—' 
South from Tunis, the first place of impor- 
tance is Hammamet, an embryotic watering- 
place for the Tunisians, called by the natives 
‘¢ the city of pigeons.’”’ 
This up-and-coming station on the route 





























































































































ABEJA 





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he Sud~GFunisieny 


which binds ‘‘ Numidia’ with ‘‘ Africa ’’ is 
possessed of a remarkable source of fresh- 
water supply. The Romans in ancient times 
exploited this same source, and built a monu- 


The Barbary Coast 405 


mental arcade on the site. All vestiges of this 
architectural work have however disappeared. 

At Nabeul, a few kilometres away, one gets 
a curious glimpse of native life interspersed 
with that of the Jews. Mosques, souks, and 
synagogues give an Oriental blend as lively in 
eolouring and variety as will satisfy the most 
insistent. Nabeul’s industry consists chiefly in 
the fabrication of pottery,—a fragile, crude, 
but lovely pottery, which travellers carry afar, 
and which is the marvel of all who contemplate 
it. The enterprise is of French origin, but the 
labour which produces these quaint jugs, vases, 
and platters (which are not dear in price) is 
purely native. The potter’s thumb marks are 
over all. The pieces have not been rubbed and 
burnished down, and accordingly the collector 
knows he has got the real thing, and not a 
German or Belgian clay-thrower’s imitation. 

Nabeul was the ancient Neapolis, which was 
destroyed by the Romans at the same time that 
Carthage came under the domination of Au- 
goustus. 

South again from Nabeul, by road or rail, 
for the railroad still continues another hun- 
dred kilometres, and one is at Sousse. Change 
ears for Kairouan, the Holy City of Tunisia! 

Sousse is an important and still growing 


406 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


port with as mixed a population as one will see 
in any Mediterranean town of twenty-five thou- 
sand inhabitants. The French number perhaps 
twelve hundred, the Italans three or four thou- 
sand, and the Maltese as many as the French. 
The rest are Arabs; you might call them sea- 
faring Arabs rather than desert Arabs, for 
they are as often on the sea as off it. 

The souks of Sousse are famous. There is 
no longer a great Berber or Byzantine city 
closed in with walls with a gate on each cardi- 
nal face; all this has disappeared in the march 
of progress; but the Arab town, everywhere 
in Algeria and Tunisia, is a feature of the life 
of the times, even though it has been en- 
eroached upon by European civilization. The 
souks, or markets, are here more bizarre and 
further removed from our twentieth-century | 
ideas of how business is, and should be, done 
than in any other mixed European-Mussulman 
centre of population. 

In the Souk des Herbages are sold roots and 
herbs of all sorts, pimento peppers, henna, ga- 
rance, dried peas, and other vegetables. The 
Souk des Arabes holds the rug and carpet sell- 
ers, the armourers, the weavers of the cloth of 
the burnous, tailors, ete. In the Souk des 
Juifs, a dark, ill-smelling, tiny nest of narrow 


The Barbary Coast 407 


corridors, are found the jewelry makers and 
the broiderers. 

This and more of the same kind is Sousse. 
In addition there are the brilliant variegated 
sails of the Italian and Maltese fishing-boats, 
the dhows of the Arabs, and all the miscellane- 
ous riffraff which associates itself mysteriously 
with a great seaport. Sousse is an artist’s 
paradise, and its hotels are excellent, —if one 
cares for sea food and eternal mutton and lamb. 

The Kasba of Sousse sits high on the hill- 
side overlooking the Arab town and the souks. 
A long swing around the boulevards brings one 
to the same culminating point. | 

A Pheenician acropolis stood here before the 
eleventh century, and the remains of a pagan 
temple to-day bear witness to the strong con- 
trast of the manners of yesterday and to-day. 
The great signal-tower of the citadel is a recon- 
struction of a pharo called Khalef-el-Feta, 
which stood here in 1068. Whatever may have 
been the value of this fortification in days gone 
by, it looks defective enough to-day with its 
hybrid mass of nondescript structures. At all 
times, and from all points of view, it is 1m- 
posing and spectacular, and is the dominant 
note of every landscape round about. Its an- 
gularities are not beautiful, nor even solid- 


408 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





looking, and the whole thing is stagy; but for 
all that it is imposing and above all grim and 
suggestive of unspeakable Turkish atrocities 
that may have been carried on in its immediate 
neighbourhood. 

Monastir is a near neighbour of Sousse, 
twenty odd kilometres away, over as fine a 
roadway as one may see anywhere. Automo- 
bilists take notice! The Hotel de Paris at 
Monastir has a “‘ sight’’ in its dining-hall, 
which alone is worth coming to see, aside 
from the excellent breakfast which you get for 
fifty sous. This apartment was formerly the 
great reception-hall of the Arab governors of 
the province, and as such becomes at once an 
historic shrine and a novelty. 

Not a town in Algeria or Tunisia has so 
quaint a vista as that looking down Monastir’s 
‘‘ Grande Rue.’’ It’s not very ancient, nor 
squalidly picturesque, but somehow it is char- 
acteristically quaint. And it ‘‘ composes ’’ 
wonderfully well, for either the artist’s canvas 
or the kodaker’s film. Sousse and Monastir 
should be omitted from no artist’s itinerary 
which is supposed to include unspoiled sketch- 
ing grounds. 

Kairouan, the Mohammedan Holy City of 


The Barbary Coast 409 


Tunisia, lies sixty kilometres southwest from 
Sousse. 

Kairouan dates only from the Mussulman 
conquest, having been founded by the propa- 
gator of Islam in Africa, Okba-ben-Nafi (50 
Heg. 671 a.p.). Kairouan became the capital 
of what is now Tunisia in the ninth century, 
and Tunis itself was its servitor. Up to this 
day Jairouan has guarded its religious su- 
premacy as the Holy City of the Eastern 
Moghreb, and accordingly is a place of pilgrim- 
age for the faithful of all North Africa. 

The French occupied the city in 1881 without 
resistance on the part of the inhabitants. And 
to-day it is a live, wide-awake important centre 
of affairs, besides being a Mohammedan shrine 
of the very first rank. 

The native city is entirely free from French 
innovations and remains almost as it was 
centuries ago. The mosques and the native 
city are all-in-all for the stranger within the 
gates, particularly the mosques, for here, of all 
places in Tunisia, their doors are opened to 
the ‘‘ dogs of infidels ’’ of overseas. But you 
must remove your shoes as you enter, or put 
on babouches over your ‘‘ demi-Americain ”’ 
boots, which you bought in Marseilles before 


410 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


leaving France (poor things, by the way; one 
suspects they were made in EKngland, not in 
America at all). 

Of first importance are the mosques of Sidi- 
Okba, the ‘‘ Grande Mosquée;’’ and of Sidi- 
Sahab, the ‘‘ Mosquee du Barbier.’’ The 
Djama Sidi-Okba, or ‘‘ Grande Mosquée,’’ 1s 
a grandly imposing structure with a massive 
square minaret of the regulation Tunisian va- 
riety. Within it is of the classic type, with 
seventeen aisles and eight great thoroughfares 
crossing at right angles. It is a cosmopolitan 
edifice in all its parts, having been variously 
rebuilt and added to with the march of time, 
the earliest constructive details being of the 
third century of the Hegira, the ninth of our 
era. 

The minbar, or pulpit, the faiences, the ceil- 
ings and the best of Hispano-Arabic details are 
here all of a superlative luxuriance and mys- 
tery. The Mosquée du Barbier ’’ (‘‘ Sidi-Sa- 
hab ’’) is built over the sepulchre of one of the 
companions of the Prophet himself. Legend 
says that he always carried with him three 
hairs of the beard of the Prophet. These were 
buried with him, of course, but whether that 
was his sole recommendation. for immortality 
the writer does not know. Less imposing than 


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The Barbary Coast 410 


the ‘‘ Grande Mosquée,”’ this latter is quite as 
elaborately beautiful in all its parts. The 
carved wooden ceiling, the rugs and carpets of 
rare weaves, the stuccos and the faiences, are 
all very effective and seemingly genuine, 
though here and there (as in the tomb of Sidi- 
Sahab) one sees the hand of the Renaissance 
Italian workman instead of that of the Moor. 

Kairouan has a special variety of cafés chan- 
tants and cafés dansants, which is much more 
the genuine thing than those at Biskra or 
Tunis. 

Still south from Tunis, further south even 
than Sousse, Kairouan, and Sfax, lies a won- 
derful, undeveloped and little known country 
of oases and chotts, the latter being great ex- 
panses of marshy land sometime doubtless 
arms of the sea itself. The oases of Gabés and 
Tozeur are called the pays des dattes, for here 
flourish the finest date-palms known to the bo- 
tanical world; while the oases themselves take 
rank as the most populous and beautiful of all 
those of the great African desert. 

The chotts are great depressions in the soil 
and abound in the region lying between Toug- 
gourt and Biskra in Algeria, and Gabés in Tu- 
nisia. The chotts are undoubtedly dried-out 
beds of some long disappeared river, lake or 


412 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 





bay, and their crystallized surfaces are to-day 
veritable death-traps to the stranger who wan- 
ders away from the beaten caravan tracks 
which cross them. 

The chotts are very ancient, and an account 
of a caravan which was lost in one of them was 
published by a Spanish historian of the ninth 
century. Herodotus, too, makes mention of a 
Lake Triton, probably the Chott-Nefzaoua of 
to-day, which communicated with the Syrte, 
now the Gulf of Gabes. 

The ‘‘ Sud-Tunisien,’’ as all this vast region 
is known, is all but an unknown land to the 
tourist. Sousse and Sfax are populous, busy 
maritime cities, largely Europeanized, but still 
retaining an imprint quite their own. Kai- 
rouan, just westward trom Sousse, where the 
railway ends, is the chief tourist shrine of 
Tunis outside Tunis itself and Carthage. But 
beyond, except for an occasional stranger who 
would hunt the gazelle, the moufflon, or the wild 
boar, none ever penetrate, save those who are 
engaged in the development of the country, and 
the military, who are everywhere. 

Between Sousse and Sfax is El Djem, the 
Thysdrus of the time of Cesar, and afterwards 
one of the richest cities of North Africa. Gor- 
dian, the proconsul, was proclaimed emperor of 


The Barbary Coast 413 


the colony in 238 a.p., and the present grand 
old ruin of an amphitheatre, a great oval like 
the Colosseum at Rome, served many times as 
a fortification against Berber and Vandal 
hordes, besides performing its conventional 
functions. E] Djem and its marvellous arena, 
nearly five hundred feet in length and four 







AV aeaianiny 
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hundred in width, is one of the surprises of 
the Tunisian itinerary. 

From Sfax, which is linked with Sousse by 
a service of public automobiles, another apolo- 
getic loose end of railway takes birth and runs 
west to Gafsa, a military post of importance 
and not much else; a favourite spot for the 
French army board to exile refractory soldiers. 
They leave them here to broil under a summer 
sun and work at road-making in the heat of the 
day. After that they are less refractory, if 
indeed they are not dead of the fever. 


CHAPTER XXVI 
THE OASIS OF TOZEUR 


One arrives at Tozeur via Sfax and Gafsa 
and the light narrow-gauge railway belonging 
to the company exploiting the phosphate mines. 
Beyond Gafsa the line runs to Metlaoui, peo- 
pled only by six hundred phosphate workers of 
the mines, a mixed crew of Arabs, Sicilians, 
and Maltese, speaking a veritable jargon des 
ours, which nobody but themselves can under- 
stand. It is strange, this little industrial city 
of the desert, but it is unlovely, consisting only 
of little whitewashed cubes of houses, a school- 
house, a miniature church and mosque, and a 
few miserable little shops. 

Gafsa is the chief metropolis of the region 
of the chotts. It is called by the Arabs the 
pearl of the Djérid, and is a military post, and 
the bled, or market town, for untold thousands 
of desert nomads. The same word bled, when 
used by the city dweller, means the desert. 
Such are the inconsistencies of Arab nomen- 
clature. They almost equal our own. 

414 


The Oasis of Tozeur 415 


Tozeur is reached from Gafsa by any one of 
a half dozen means. On foot, on bicycle, —if 
you. will, by automobile,—if you have the 
courage, by diligence, caléche, or on horse, 
donkey, or camel back. If by either of the 
latter means, you will of course be accompa- 
nied by a grinning blackamoor who will re- 
spond to the name of Mohammed, and be thor- 
oughly useless except to prod the animal now 
and then. You and he will understand each 
other by sign language, or by what might be 
called phonetic French, and you will get on 
very well. Tozeur is eighty odd kilometres 
from Gafsa over a “* route carrossable,’’ as the 
French describe a carriage road, — sandy and 
rutty in places; but still a road which ranks 
considerably higher than most of those of Ohio 
or Indiana. There are no means of obtaining 
provisions, or even water, en route, so the jour- 
ney must be made either in a day, or arrange- 
ments made for camping out overnight. With 
a good guide the journey might preferably be 
made at night, for a nocturnal ramble in the 
desert is likely to awaken emotions in the senti- 
mentally inclined which will be something 
unique among their previous experiences. 

An Arab horse or mule will think nothing 
of doing sixty kilometres between sunrise and 


416 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


sunset, but if a caléche is to be one’s mode of 
conveyance, thirty-six hours is none too long 
to allow for the journey from Gafsa to Tozeur. 

The high-class Arab professes a contempt 
for the donkey or the mule, though this indeed 
is no part of his creed, for we must not ignore 
that it was a donkey that the Prophet most 
loved among beasts. 

For the masses who have passed the bourri- 
quet stage, the mule is the beast of burden par 
excellence. The Bey of Tunis, when he takes 
his promenades abroad, has a team of six mules 
attached to his band-wagon coach, and superb 
and distinguished-looking beasts they are; but 
the desert Sheik will have nothing but an Ara- 
bian horse, not the ‘‘ charger shod with fire ”’ 
of the drawing-room song, but a sound, sturdy, 
agile beast, a good goer and handsome to look 
upon. 

The indigéne’s mule will amble along over a 
desert track fourteen or sixteen hours out of 
the twenty-four, carrying his human burden in 
the characteristic Arab saddle known as a 
borda, and searcely seeming to feel the weight. 

The Arab is habitually kind to his beast of 
burden, at least he is no more eruel to him than 
most lighter coloured humanity, and not nearly 
as much so as the Sicilian and the Spaniard. 





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The Oasis of Tozeur 417 


The little donkey to which the Prophet showed 
compassion was doubtless a contrary little 
beast at times; but, since he is reputed to have 
been able to go leagues and leagues without 
either eating or drinking, loaded with burdens 
at which a full-grown mule and horse had 
balked, the bourriquet of the desert Arab must 
have had (and has) some undeniable virtues. 
Not often is his lot an unhappy one, and the 
strangling curb and bit and the resounding 
whacks from a spade or shovel, with which the 
sunny-faced Italian usually regales his four- 
footed friends, are seldom to be noted in North 
Africa. The Arab is voluntarily just towards 
all living things, and if he sometimes forgets 
himself, and gives his camel or his donkey a 
vicious prod, he, perhaps, has had provocation, 
for both are contrary beasts at times. 

En route one passes many caravans, fifty 
or a hundred camels in a bunch, half as many 
horses and mules, a score of donkeys, and a 
troop of women, children, and dogs bringing 
up the rear. Most of them are making for Kai- 
rouan or Gabés, coming from Algeria through 
the gateways of El Oued and Ourgala. The 
camels march in Indian file, loaded down with 
bales and barrels, a hundred, a hundred and 
fifty and more kilos to each. No other means 


418 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


of transportation is so practicable for the 
commerce of the desert, nor will be until some 
one invents a broad-tired automobile that 
won’t sink in the sand. ‘The camel’s foot, by 
the way, doesn’t sink in the sand, and that is 
why he is more of a success in the desert than 
any other carrier. When the ideal automobile 
for the desert comes, the ship of the desert 
will disappear, as the horse is disappearing 
from the cities and towns of Kurope and Amer- 
ica. 

Intermingled with the caravans are occa- 
sional flocks of sheep, black-faced sheep and 
rams, with two, three, and even four horns 
-apiece, and fat, wobbly tails of extraordinary 
size, the characteristic, it seems, of the sheep 
of the Sud-Tunisien. Like the hump and the 
six stomachs of the camel, this fat caudal ap- 
pendage of the Tunisian sheep is a sort of re- 
serve supply of energy, and when it is dry 
picking along the route, they live on their fat. 
Other animals often starve under like condi- 
tions. 

Long before Tozeur is reached one wonders 
if the guide has not lost his bearings. Prob- 
ably he hasn’t, but it is all like the trackless 
ocean to the man in the saddle, and the mule 


The Oasis of Tozeur 419 





or donkey or camel doesn’t seem to care in the 
least which way his head is turned so long as he 
is not made to push forward at full speed. 

If one encounters a native, the guide being 
momentarily hidden behind a sand-dune, most 
likely a bonjour or a salut will be forthcom- 
ing; but that is all. The native’s French vo- 
cabulary is often small, and in these parts he 
is quite as likely to know as much of Italian, 
Maltese or Hebrew. One that we encountered 
looked particularly intelligent, so after the 
formal courtesies of convention, we risked: 

‘¢'Tozeur? loin? ”’ 

‘¢ La-bas.”’ 

‘‘ Combien de temps? ”’ 

eeligen fautew 

‘‘ Quelle distance? ”’ 

‘* Au bout.’’ 

Our interrogatory was not a_ success. 
Another time we should trust to our guide and 
bury suspicion. The Arab has some admirable 
traits, but he often does not carry things to a 
fmish, not even for his own benefit, and his ac- 
quaintance with French is apt to be limited and 
his conversation laconic. The Oriental proverb 
on the life of the nomad suits the Arab to-day 
as well as it ever did. 


420 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Mieux vaut étre assis que debout, 
Couché qu’ assis, 
Mort que couché. 


Finally a blue line of haze appears on the 
horizon, something a little more tangible than 
anything seen before, unless indeed it prove to 
be a mirage. If not a mirage, most likely it is 
T'ozeur, or rather the palms surrounding that 
sad, but interesting centre of civilization. 

‘‘'Tozeur?’’ you ask again, of Mohammed 
this time, and that faithful Arab with a curt 
assent breathes the words ‘‘ C’est bien ca.’’ 
Mohammed is learned, has mingled with the 
world, and is suspicious that your confidence in 
his powers is not all that he would have wished. 
‘¢ Well, here we are,’’ he thinks, ‘‘ now what 
have you got to say?’’ ‘°‘ C’est bien ca: To- 
zeur! Oui! oui! Je n’ai trompé pas jamais, 
mot, Mohammed.’’ By this time he has thought 
it all out and is really mad, but his mood soon 
passes and he becomes as before, taciturn, faith- 
ful and willing. The Arab doesn’t bear malice 
for trivial things. 

By contrast with the houses of Kairouan, 
Sousse and Sfax, which cut the blue of the sky 
with a dazzling line of white, Tozeur is but 
a low, rambling mud-coloured town of native- 
made bricks called tobs. The impression from 





A Street in Tozeur. 





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The Oasis of Tozeur 421 


afar is one singularly sad and gloomy, for the 
architectural scheme of the builders of Tozeur 
is more akin to that of the Soudanese than to 
that of the Berber or Arab. In its detailed 
aspect the architecture of Tozeur is remarkably 
appealing, quaint, decorative, and founded on 
principles which the Roman builders of old 
spread to all corners of the known world of 
their day. This may be the evolution of the 
architecture of Tozeur or it may not, but cer- 
tainly the flat-brick construction is wonderfully 
like that of the baths and cisterns of the Ro- 
mans. 

Tozeur itself is melancholy, but its situa- 
tion is charming and contrastingly interesting 
to all who hitherto have known only the Arabe- 
Mauresque architecture of the cities of the lit- 
toral, or the Roman ruins of the dead cities of 
Lambessa, Timgad and Tebessa. The little 
garrison which the French planted here some 
years ago has gone, and only a few European 
functionaries remain, those in control of the 
wmpot, a doctor and an innkeeper, who doubt- 
less means well, but who has a most inadequate 
establishment. And this in spite of the fact 
that Tozeur is the capital of the Dyérid. 

The Djérid itself is a great expansive region 
between the plateau steppes and the desert 


422 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


proper. The natives are Berbers who have be- 
come what the French call Arabisé, though 
many of their traditions seem to be paganly 
Roman rather than Mussulman. 

The hotel accommodations of Tozeur are en- 
durable, but as before said they are inadequate. 
Travellers are rare in this desert oasis, and 
two or three sleeping-rooms scantily furnished 
—a bed, a chair and a wash-basin — are the 
extent of the resources of Mme. Besson’s apolo- 
getic little hotel. 

Tozeur’s market is a mere alley of inverted 
V-shaped huts of reed, wherein are sold — 
after much solemn bargaining and drinking of 
coffee — all the small wants of the desert Arab, 
such as a morsel of town-baked bread, hobnails 
for his shoes, a piece of tanned leather — with 
the fur on — with which to make a new sole, a 
hank of thread, a tin pot or pan, or a bandanna 
handkerchief — which however must have 
stamped upon its border some precept from the 
Koran. The Arab’s personal wants are not 
great, and as he almost invariably carries his 
worldly goods about with him they are accord- 
ingly not bulky. 

Our only diversion at Tozeur was watching 
an hysterical féte or pilgrimage to the neigh- 
bouring tomb of a marabout who died in recent 


The Oasis of Tozeur 423 


years richly endowed with sanctity. The his- 
tory of this holy man was told us as follows: 
This man, Alfaoui, had lived all his life in 
Algeria, practising the virtues of the Koran so 
assiduously that he was reckoned by his friends 
and neighbours as one of the good and great. 
Having taken too active a part in the insurrec- 
tion of 1871, when the whole country — except 
Kabylie — was ablaze with sedition, he fled pre- 
cipitately from Algeria and settled with his 
goods and chattels at Tamerza in Tunisia, one 
of the oasis villages of Tozeur, arriving in time 
to great repute and respect among the people. 
Alfaoui’s compact with Allah was not how- 
ever so intimate but that he oceasionally con- 
spired against the French, who, in the eighties, 
came to occupy Tunisia, as they had Algeria 
fifty years before. His conspiracies were in 
a way harmless enough, and consisted princi- 
pally in ‘‘ doing ’’ the French officials at every 
opportunity. He refused to pay his taxes, and 
advised his followers to do the same; he smug- 
gled tobacco, firearms and matches, and traf- 
ficked in them among the natives, to the loss of 
a certain revenue to the fiscal authorities, who, 
when they finally ran him to earth en flagrant 
délit, found only some thousands of empty 
match boxes with English labels, — but made in 


424 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


Belgium nevertheless, —the kind of matches 
where you scratch three before you get one to 
burn, or as the French say of their own abom- 
inable allumettes, it takes a match to light a 
match. 

Alfaoui was tried and condemned by the 
French tribunal, and it was this ready-made 
‘‘martyrdom by infidels’’ that caused the 
faithful roundabout to elevate the meddlesome 
Alfaoui the Algerian to the distinction of a 
marabout, and a house or kouba was built for 
him entirely of brick taken from the sepulchres 
of a neighbouring cemetery. Thus are holy 
reputations made to order in the fanatical faith 
of the Mussulman. Alfaoui’s followers to-day 
are many, and without knowing why they 
venerate him, thousands make the pilgrimag* 
to his shrine, and wail and chant and weep and 
have a good time generally. The government 
says nothing. It fears nothing to-day, and 
since the Mussulman must have many and con- 
venient shrines for the excesses of his devotion 
to the principles of the Koran, why that of a 
contrebandier and agitator serves as well as 
any other and no harm done. 

The great date-palm plantations of Tozeur 
are watered by a complicated system of irriga- 
ting canals whose flood-gates are opened every 


The Oasis of Tozeur 425 


morning by the authorities. A very deep 
spring gives an abundant supply of sweet, lim- 
pid water which runs in miniature rivulets 
around and through the tentacle-like roots of 
the Djérid’s million palm-trees, bringing the 
means of livelihood and prosperity to a con- 
glomerate population of thirty thousand souls. 
Thirty millions of kilogrammes of dates bring a 
considerable profit to the cultivator, even if a 
goodly share does go to the exploiter, the trans- 
portation company and the middleman. Four 
hundred thousand frances in taxes and duties 
are collected yearly, from this most fertile of 
all African date-growing regions. 

All this is something to think about and mar- 
vel at when one is threading his way slowly 
through the palisaded trunks of a grove of 
a million palm-trees. The Arab knows the 
value of dates as a food product, but it needed 
the European to exploit the industry profitably. 

The Arab’s veneration for the date-palm is 
great, and he affectionately refers to it as ‘‘ the 
tree which grows with its feet in the water and 
its head in the fire of the sky.’’ 

There is another product of the palm-tree 
less beneficial to man, and that is a sort of wine 
or sap which is gathered much as the Mexican 
gathers pulque, or as the resin is sapped from 


426 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


the pine-tree. It’s a soft, pleasant, somewhat 
sticky liquid, seemingly innocuous, but its after 
effects may be safely guaranteed as being of 
the ‘‘ stone-fence ’’ variety. The Arab, by tra- 
dition, is a temperate person in food and drink, 
but the European has taught him to drink white 
wine and he himself has copied the French and 
taken (in small numbers fortunately) to ab- 
sinthe, and now he has got a ready-made dis- 
tillery of lagmi in every palm-tree. The gov- 
ernment proposes some sort of control of this 
‘‘ moonshining,’’ but the wheels of the law, hke 
those of God, move slowly, and the seed of dis- 
solution may yet be sown among the Arabs of 
Tozeur before the fiscal authorities find a way 
to levy a tax on lagmt. 

No one who ever saw the indigéne villages 
attached to a fertile Saharan oasis will fail to 
remark that in spite of the proximity of the 
eool, welcome shadow of the thick-growing 
palm-trees, the adobé (tob) huts are invariably 
huddled together upon some blazing, baked 
spot of ground with not so much shelter from 
the sun’s rays as is given by a flagpole. Why 
indeed is it so? The Arab may be like the Nea- 
politan in his contempt for those who walk or 
live in the shade, but certainly the sun-baked 
existence which most dwellers in Arab mud 


The Oasis of Tozeur. 427 


houses live for twelve months out of the twelve 
must be enervating and discouraging, or would 
be if the Arab ever felt the effects of heat and 
eold, which apparently he does not. Perhaps 
this is the explanation of the motive which 
prompts him to select his town sites where he 
does. The case is not so hopeless though; the 
palm-tree grows quickly; and a dozen years 
would transform the most dreary, monotonous 
Arab town of sun-cured mud walls and roofs 
into a garden city which would rival Para- 
dise. Perhaps some day the ‘‘ movement ’’? — 
as we call the latest vogue in America and Eng- 
land — will strike North Africa, and then we 
shall have graded streets, lamp-posts on every 
corner and artificial lakes with goldfish in 
them. And then where will be the rude pictur- 
esqueness of the Arab town which charms us 
to-day? 

Tozeur is not a lovely town, even as African 
towns go, but it is interesting, comfortable, and 
accessible, after you have once got to Sfax and 
Gafsa. It is altogether a little bit of mediz- 
valism which even the life of the Arab of to-day 
eannot change. And there is searcely any evi- 
dence plainly visible to indicate that Tozeur is 
not living three centuries back in the past. 

The environs of Tozeur offer views of rav- 


428 In the Land of Mosques and Minarets 


ishing beauty to the artist or the more sen- 
timentally inclined. From the height of the 
minaret of Ouled-Medjed one commands a view 
of the entire oasis of Degach, with here and 
there a clump of dismantled ruined habitations 
and on the horizon the illimitable, miraculous 
desert mirage. 

T'o the direct south is the great chott, so shal- 
low that the trail to Gabés can cross it at its 
widest part. ‘T’o the four cardinal points one 
frames his views of that marvellous African 
landscape; seen only at its best from within a 
horseshoe-arched window, the invariable ogive 
accompaniment of the true Arab replica of 
Moorish architecture. 

The view from the height of Tozeur’s 
mosque is a replica of that of which Richepin 
sang. It is not Kipling, but it is good senti- 
ment, nevertheless. 


“ Loin, loin, toujours plus loin, la mer morte des sables 
S’étalait sans limite, et rien ne remuait 
Sur ’immobilité des flots infranchissables, 
Sur ’immobilité de 1’air lourd et muet.” 


Coming down to earth, and making our way 
gropingly back to Mme. Besson’s humble rest 
house, a storm broke over our heads. It came 
with the suddenness of night; and sticks and 


The Oasis of Tozeur 429 


stones and much sand, and hailstones as big 
as plover’s eggs, fell through a suffocating 
stillness with blinding force. It was all over in 
amoment. It came and went like the characters 
of the stage, without announcement and with- 
out adieu, and Tozeur settled down again to its 
wonted calm. 

The muezzin calls to prayer at sundown and 
night falls brusquely on the silent desert air as 
if an inky wave had engulfed all before it. 


THE END. 


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Index 





Abd-el-Kader, 241, 250 
Adam, de l’Isle, Villiers, 1 
Adam, the brothers, 98 
Aeneas, 389 
Africa, the granary of, 309 
The palm-trees of, 33 
The wheat of, 32 
Ain-Deida, 352 
Diligence from, to Tebessa, 
352 
Railway from Kenchela, to, 
352 
Ain-Séfra, 221 
Alfaout, the Algerian, 923, 924 
Alger, “‘La Blanche,’’ 245 
Highest peak in, province 
of, 53 
Province of, 25, 51, 53 
Algeria, 9; 22, 23:36, 37, 38, 
42, 44, 56, 57, 64, 65, 67, 68, 
76, 78, 91, 93, 98, 99, 107, 
bls wie. 144, 147, 170,:173; 
174, 176, 197, 198, 200, 201, 
205 peOoe 20 noun sale, 2135 
214, 215, 228, 232, 235, 241, 
256, 262, 263, 264, 281, 283, 
315, 330, 333, 403, 408, 411, 
417, 423 
Algeria, Agriculture in, 55, 56 
Arab of the, 264, 337 
Arab chiefs in, 147 
Arab and Berber, population 


of, 43 
Climate of, 50-51, 54 


431 


Commercial possibilities in, 
46 

Currency in, 45-46 

Forgats of, the, 347 

Glimpse of real countryside 
of, 259 

Goum of, the, 206 

Hebrew of, the, 142 

Kabyles, the Auvergnats of, 
282 

Koubas of, 106 

Native Arab soldiery, 203- 
208 

Nomad Arab, 332 

Negro café in, the, 312-314 

Of to-day, 42-56 

One of the richest agricul- 
tural lands, 31 

Population of, 42-44 

Railways of, 54-55, 72 

Regular soldiery in, the, 199 

Revenues of, 42 

Romantic character in his- 
tory of, 200 

Routes Nationales of, 55 

Spahis and Turcos of, 202 

Taxes in, 34 

Tax on wine, in, 48 

Tobacco, a source of profit 
in, 47-48 

Trade between, and France, 


31 
Wild beasts killed in, list 
of, 24 


432 


Wine industry of, 55-56 
Winter in, 51 
Algeria and Tunisia, 4, 10, 12, 
15, 16, 17, 18, 23, 37 
Arab town in, the, 406 
Architecture of mosques in, 
101 
Barbary fig in, 33 
Diligence of, 20-22 
Divisions of native Mussul- 
man population, 129 
Foreign population in, 28 
French policy in, 76 
Horses seen in, 169 
Immigration of Arab popu- 
lation of, 66 
Jews in, 142-144 
Marabout of, the, 90-91 
Marabouts in, 92 
Newcomers to, 193 
Pilgrims from, 93 
Ports of, 36 
Roads of, 22 
Sheiks of, 76 
Story of, the, 4 
Wines of, 34 
Algerian, Arab horse, the, 171 
Budget, the, 42 
Coast, temperature on, 37-38 
Gold coin, 45 
Journal, account of divorce 
in, 161-163 
Mountains, 288 
Quick-lunch, 263 
Wine, 35 
Algiers, 1, 11, 12, 15, 17, 26, 37, 
42, 44, 51, 67, 103, 105, 137, 
138, 144, 164, 173, 178, 200, 
212,02 142285229 923 be 235: 
238, 239, 240, 242, 252, 260, 
264, 266, 273, 275, 281, 284, 
288, 289, 290, 295, 299, 320, 
328, 338, 359, 403 
And beyond, 259-272 
And its life, 247 
Arabs of, the, 251 
Arab town of, the. 249-250 
Architectural charms, 248 


Index 


Café d’Apollon in, 27 
Environs of, 246 
Grande Mosquée of, 246 
Great White City, 245-258 
Historical and romantic fig- 
ures of, 254 
Icosium of the Romans, the, 
245 
Jewesses of, 283 
Kasba at, the, 245, 248, 249 
Minarets of, 103 
Mosque Marabout of Sidi- 
Brahim, at, 106 
Pacha of, a (see Salah Rais) 
Place du Gouvernement at, 
246 
Population of, 253 
Port of, 254 
Shoeblacks of, 27 
Streets of, 246 
Suburban, 52 
Veiled women of, 256-258 
Ali-ben-Embarek, 241 
Ali-Bey (see Si-Ali-Bey) 
Andalusia, 29, 35, 109, 220, 221 
Arba, 178, 264, 265, 266 
Arnaud, 3 
Atlas Mts., the, 11, 49, 51, 92, 
277 
Augustus, 32, 237, 287, 392 
Third legion of, 346, 348 
Aumale, 47, 264, 266, 267, 268 
Auzia, the, of the Romans, 
267 
Diligence from Algiers to, 
266 
Route Nationale from, to 
Bou-Saada, 267 
Temperatures at, 54 
Aures, the, 310, 351 
Auzia (see Aumale) 


Bagdad, Kalif of, 78 
Tomb of Sidi-el-Hadji-Abd- 
el-Kader-el-Djilali at, 93 
Balzac, 92, 149 
Barbary, Coast, the, 5, 339, 402 
413 


Index 


433 





Slaves of, 143-144 
States, form of minarets in, 
110 
Barberousse, the brothers, 254 
Barrucaud, Victor, 3 
Bastion de France, 340 
Batna, 52, 310, 315, 344, 345, 
346 
Guide at, 311-312 
Hotel des Etrangers et Con- 
tinentals at, 311 
La-bivouac, 345 
Negro village at, 312-314 
School for Arab children, 
314-315 
Tomb of Massinissa, 345 
Belisarius, 393 
Ben-Izguen, 333 
Beni-Ferah, 317 
Beni-Mangour, 275, 281, 287, 
289 
Beni-Ounif, 11, 221 
Beni-Salah, Mts. of, 232 
Beni-Souf, 234 
Bertrand, Louis, 3 
Beryan, 333 
Besnard, 5 
Besson, Mme., 422, 428 
Biskra, 1, 10, 11, 12, 15, 16, 49, 
225, 233, 289, 310, 317, 320- 
329, 334, 344, 369, 403, 411 
And the desert beyond, 320- 
335 
Café Glacier at, 323 
Casino, the, at, 322, 329 
Conquered by the Duc d’- 
Aumale, 264 
Danseuses of, 128 
Excursions from, 329 
From Constantine to, 309 
Guides at, 322 
Hotel des Ziban, 323 
The Moorish cafés of, 324- 
326 
The Ouled Nail dancers of, 
323, 326-329 
Plan of, 321 | 
Rue Sainte of, 323, 327 


Temperatures at, 54 
Bizerta, 12, 61, 63, 400-401 
Hippo Diarrhytus of the 
ancients, 400 
Bizerte (see Bizerta) 
Blake, 403 
Bids lobs lt, e220 geal, 
232-234, 248, 265, 289, 309 
Bois Sacré of, 232 
Excursions from, 243 
Known as Khaaba, 232 
Known as Ouarda, 232 
Marabout of Sidi-Yacoub- 
ech-Chérif at, 232 
Mauresques of, 234 
Route de, 230 
Bona, 52, 93, 213, 338-339 
Basilica of St. Augustin at, 
338 
Hotel de l’Orient at, 339 
Kasba, the, at, 339 
Road from, to La Calle, 340 
Roman quais at, 36 
The ancient Hippo Regius, 
338 
Tomb of Sidi-Brahmin at, 
338 
Bona-Guelma railway, 345 
Bone (see Bona) 
Bou-Chateur, domain of, 398 
Bou-Noura, 333 
Bou-Saada, 10, 11, 47, 49, 267- 
270 
El Hamel 15 _ kilometres 
from, 270 
From Aumale to, 267 
Hotel Bailly at, 268 
Route Nationale to, 264 
Boufarik, 227-231, 265, 289 
Hotel Benoit at, 228 
Its market, 228, 230 
Bougie, 281, 287-290 
Off the beaten track, 288 
Roman ruins at, 290 
Saldae of the ancients, 287 
Roman quais at, 36 
Boumezou, the, 300 
Bourmont, General, 200 


434 


Index 








Bugeaud, 201 
Burton, Sir Richard, 3, 67 


Cabannes, 5 
Cesar, 69, 293, 341, 392, 412 
Caid of the Tell, the, anecdote of, 
138 
Cairo, 16, 18, 26, 41, 60, 67, 
101, 107, 122, 166, 173, 246, 
252, 294, 299, 306, 322, 359, 
360 
Cape to, 10 
Kalif of, 78 
Minaret of Mosque of El 
Bardenei, 103 
Minaret of Mosque of Ka- 
laun, 103 
Mosque of Hmrou at, 109 
Mosque of Iba Touloum at, 
109 
Cap Bon, 13 
Cap Carthage, 13, 339, 402 
Cap Matifou, 245 
Caracalla, Arch of Triumph of, 
353, 354 
Cart-hadchat (see Carthage) 
Carthage, 13, 30, 61, 170, 238 
240, 337, 372, 374, 389-397, 
398, 400, 405, 412 
Basilica of St. Louis at, 389 
Musée Lavigerie at, 394 
Plan of, 395 
Recent discoveries at, 396- 
397 
Steam tram from Tunis to, 
390 
The glory that once was, 
389-401 
Vin blane de, 35, 400 
Carthago (see Carthage) 
Casablanca, 206 
Castiglione, 236 
Tombeau de la Chrétienne, 
near, 236-237 
Cato, 389 
Cervantes, 254 
Cesarea, capital of Mauretania, 
239 


Chabannes, M., 398 

Charles V, 209, 255, 290, 399 

Chelia, Mt., 53 

Chellu (see Collo) 

Cherchell, 229, 231, 235, 238, 
939, 240, 241, 248, 338 
Ancient port of, 239 
From Tipazato, by road, 239 
Grande Mosquée of, 240 
Population of, 240 
Road to, 235 
Roman ruins at, 240 
Roman quais at, 36, 240 

Chiffa, Gorges de, (see Gorges 

de Chiffa) 

Chio, 402 © 

Chott Nefzaoua, 412 

Chotts, the, 411-412, 414 

Cirta (see Constantine) 

Clauzel, General, 283 

Cleopatra, 284 

Col des Genets, 288 

Col des Oliviers, 307 

Collo, 287 
Chellu of the ancients, 341 
Roman quais at, 36 

Colomb-Béchar, 224 

Columbus, 211 

Constant, 5 

Constantine, 34, 42, 52, 234, 
289, 309, 310, 320, 326, 328, 
341, 344, 369 
And the Gorge du Rummei, 

291-308 
Arab cemetery at, 303 
Arab town of, the, 298, 299 
Camel caravan from, 178 
Cirta of the ancients, 294, 
341 
Danseuses of, 128 
Environs of, 307 
First glimpse of, 293 
Monuments of, 295 
Mosque of Salah Bey at, 295 
Mussulman festival at, 301- 
306 
Palace of Bey at, 295-295 
Plague of locusts in, 47 


Index 


435 








Plan of tomb of Médracen, 


Province of, 25, 51, 53 
Railway from, to Biskra, 309 
Rock of, .292 
Roman remains at, 341 
“Siége de,”’ by. Vernet, 291 
Société Archéologique of, 355 
Streets of, 294 
Tomb of- Constantine, near, 
342 
Tomb of Médracen on road 
from, to Batna, 344 
Temperature, and_ rainfall 
at, 54 
Constantine, tomb of, 342, 343 
Constantinople, 6, 67, 101, 103, 
166, 294, 299, 359, 373 
Kalif of, 78 
Minarets of St. Sophia at, 
103 
Sultans of, 
heads, 75 
Cook, 11, 16, 
Cordova, 92, 109 
Corot, 233 
Costechica, 211 


are religious 


D’ Annunzio, 210 

De Amicis, Edmond, 88 

De Nerval, 2 

De Vegas, 255 

Decatur, 402 

Degach, Oasis of, 428 

Delacroiz, 201 

Delattre, Pére, 396 

Dellys, 287 

Diana, Temple of, 346 

Diana (see Zana) ~ 

Dido, 389, 393 

Dinet; 5 

Djeefa, temperature mae. rain- 
fall at, 54 

Djemel (see El-Djem) 

Djerid, the, 69, 414, 421 
Date-palms of the, 425 
The “‘ pearl ” of the, 414 
Tozeur, the capital of, 421 


Djidjelli, ancient 
Igilgili, 287 

Djurjura, the, 245 
Kabylie du, 287 

Don Juan of ‘Austria, 399 

Dougga, ruined portal at, 336 

Duc d’Aumale, 264, 267 

Dumas, 7 

Duquesne, 402 

Duval, M. Jules, 277 


colony of 


Eberhardt, Isabelle, 3 

Egypt, 30, 57, 78, 109, 111, 112, 
MS AO li2 

El Ateuf, 333 

El Bekri, 344 

El Djem, 412-413 
Amphitheatre at, 413 
Thysdrus of the ancients, 

412 
El Guerrah, 137, 345 
El Hamel, visit to Marabout 
of, 270-272 

El Kantara, 315-319, 320, 329, 
334 
An artist’s paradise, 317 
Bridge of, 292, 300 
Excursions from, 317 
Gorge of, 310, 316 
Hotel Bertrand at, 315 

El-Moungar, 197 

El Oued, 234, 417 

Elissa, 391 

Esculapius, temple to, 347 


Fatah, sign of the hand of, 
366 


Ferdinand, 209 
Fez, 60, 92, 111 
Kalif of, 78 
Kingdom of, 92 
Sultan of, 75 
Figuig, 12; ‘49, O21 222.0224, 
225 


Grand Hoétel du Sahara, at, 
11, 224 

To Laghouat by caravan, 
225 


436 


Index 








Flaubert, 389 
Flavius Maximus, Prefect, 348 
Fort National, 273, 275, 287, 
288 
Temperature and rainfall, 54 
Fragonard, 233 
Fromentin, 4 
Fronton, 341 


Gabés, 12, 23, 73, 192, 411, 
417 

Gulf of, the ancient Syrte, 
412 


Oases of, and Tozeur, 10, 411 
Railway from Tlemcen to, 
es 


Trail to, 428 
Gafsa, 109, 414, 415, 416, 427 
Journey from, to Tozeur, 
415-420 
Railway to, 413 
Garner, 150 
Gautier, Théophile, 2, 102, 121, 
201 
Gerhard, Paul, work on butter- 
flies of North Africa, 41 
Gérome, 23 
Géryville, temperature 
rainfall at, 54 
Ghardaia, 11, 333 
Gibraltar, 108, 400, 401 
Strait of, 7, 113 
Gide, André, 3 
Goletta, La (see La Goletta) 
Gordian, Proconsul, 412 
Gorges de Chiffa, the, 243 
Gorges de Maafa, 317 
Gorges de Tilatou, 317 
Goulette, La (see La Goletta) 
Granada, 29, 107 
Guerrara, 333 
Guillaumet, 5 


and 


Habib, the Algerian, anecdote, 
375-388 

Hadj-Ahmed, last Bey of Con- 
stantine, 295, 297 

Hamma, Valley of, 307 


Hamam-Rw’hira, 11, 16, 243, 
244 
Its mineral springs, 243 
Hammamet, 404 
Hannibal, 389, 393 
Hanno, 391 
Haroun-Al-Raschid, 89, 357 
Harry, Myriam, Mme., 3 
Hassan-ben-Nomane, 394 
Herodotus, 182, 412 
Hippo-Diarrhytus 
zerta) 
Hippone, 338 
Hippo Regius, 338 
Houdin, Robert, sent to Algeria, 
264 
Hugo, Victor, 2 
Hunéric, the Vandal king, 238 
Hussein Dey, 255 


(see Bi- 


Icosium (see Algiers) 

Igilgili (see Djidjelli) 

Iol, Phcenician colony of, 239 
(see Cherchell) 

Isabella, 209 


Jaffa, 6, 37 
Jeanne, “‘ La Folle,”’ 209 
Jerusalem, 37 

Mosque of Omar, at, 109 
Jouanne, 369 
Jouggourt, incident at, 160 
Jubal If, 237, 239 
Jugurtha, 294 
Juno, 347 
Jupiter, 347 
Justinian, 351, 352, 354 


Kabylie, 11, 34, 51, 120, 248, 

273;°275, 287, 288 

And the Kabyles, 273-290 
Des Babors, 287 

Du Djurdjura, 287 

Grande, 287-288 

Mountain villages of, 273 
Mountain women of, 283 


Index 


437 








Mountains of, 11, 52 
Mountains of Grande, 53, 
273, 310 
Mountains of Petite, 273 
Petite, 287 
Story of wood-cutter of, 118- 
120 
Kairouan, 10, 60, 101, 107, 330, 
405, 408-411, 412, 417, 420 
Cafés of, 411 
Mosque of Okba Ibm Maffi 
at, 109 
Mosque of Sidi-Okba, 410 
Mosque of Sidi-Sahab, 410- 
411 
Mosques of, 98 
Kantara, El (see El Kantara) 
The Qued, 316 
Kano, 188 
Kassar-Said, 63 
Kef Cnecora, 301 
Kenchela, 47, 352 
Diligence from Timgad to, 
351 
Ho6tel de France at, 352 
Railway from, to Ain Beida, 
352 
Site of ancient Mascula, 352 
Khaaba (see Blida) 
Khair Ed Din, 255 
Khoumir region, the, 340 
Kinglake, 67 
Kings of Mauretania, 237 
Kipling, 428 
Kolea, 234-235 
Hétel de France at, 235 
“Vin Rosé ” of, 35, 235 
Korbus, 13 
Kroubs, 342 
Plan of tomb of Constantine, 
342 
Tomb of Constantine on 
road to, 343 
Ksar-Baghai, Byzantine for- 
tress at, 352 


La Calle, 339-341 
Coral fisheries of, 340 


Sardine fisheries of, 341 
The Tunizia of the Romans, 


La Goletta, 13, 399 
Canal to Tunis from, 356 
La Malga, 391 
La Marsa, 13, 62, 63, 391, 399- 
400 
La Trappe, 51 (see Staouéli- 
La Trappe) 
Laghouat, 44, 47, 225 
From Figuig by caravan, to, 
225 


Temperatures at, 54 
Lake Tchad, 62 
Lake Triton, 412 
Lake of Tunis, 357 
Lalla Marnia, 220 
Fétes of, 220 
Numerus Syrorum of the 
Syrians, 220 
Lambeesis (see Lambessa) 
Lambese (see Lambessa) 
Lambessa, 311, 336, 344, 346- 
348, 352, 355, 421 
Aqueduct at, 348 
Arch of Septimus Severus at, 
347 
Baths at, 347 
Capitol at, 347 
Forum at, 347 
From Batna to, 346 
Government penitentiary, 
348 
Lambesis of the Romans, 
346, 352 
Plan of, 347 
Pretorium at, 336, 346 
Roman ruins at, 346 
Third Legion at, 346, 350 
Tomb of Flavius Maximus, 
348 
Lamiggiga, 345 
Livingstone, Dr., 10 
Longfellow, 315 
Lord Cromer, 114 
Loti, 4 


| Lowis XIV, 255, 402 


438 


Louis Philippe, 201, 264 
Lybia, 57, 68 


Maafa, Gorges de (see Gorges 
de Maafa) 
Macrin, the Emperor, 346 
Madghasen (see Médracen) 
Mahdia, 109 
Mahomet (see Mohammed) 
Maison Carrée, 259, 264, 265 
Market of, 259-263 
Majorca, 213 
Mansourah, 217 
Hills of, 307 
Marcus Aurelius, 341 
Marseilles, 1, 2, 6, 7, 13, 14, 15, 
71, 196, 289, 409 
Maryval, 3 
Mascula (see Kenchela) 
Masqueray, 5 
Massinissa, 345 
Maupassants, the, 5 
Mauretania, 238 
Province of, 239 
Tomb of Kings of, 237 
Mecca, 3, 80, 84, 95, 109 
First Kouba at, 106 
Pilgrimage to, 93 
Médea, 217 
Occupation of in 1840, 241 
Road to, 243 
Wines of, 35 
Médenine, 73 
Medina, 3, 109 
Médracen, tomb of, 344 
Melika, 333 
Merimée, 2 
Messaoud-ben-Ghebana, 317 
Metlaoui, 414 
Mila, 341 
Mileum (see Mila)’ 
Miliana, 229, 231, 241-242, 
243 . 
Mosque of Sidi-Ahmed-ben- 
Youssef at, 242 
Zucchabar of the Romans, 
241 
Minerva, 347 


Index 


Mitidja, the, 51, 227, 231, 264, 
309 
Agha of, 241 
And the Sahel, 227-244 
Moucharabias in the, 105 
Mogador, 223 
Mohammed, 77, 86, 306 
Mohammed-el-Hadi- Bey, 59, 61 
Mohammed-en-Nacer-bey, 59, 
63 
Monastir, 71, 408 
Bricks and tiles of, 72 
Hotel de Paris at, 408 
Montmaur, 140 
Monts des Ouled-Nails, 332 
Monts du Zab (see Ziban) 
Morocco, 18, 22, 30, 61, 78, 109, 
114, 170, 198, 206, 216, 262, 
401 
Jews in, 144 
Kingdom of, 92 
Marabouts in, 91 
Morsott, 354-355 
Plan of, 355 
Ruins at, 354 
Site of the ancient Theverte, 
354 
Moulouia, The, 339 
Mount Chelia, 53 
Mount Mourdjadja, 212 
Mountains of Algeria, 53 
Beni-Salah, 232 
Grande Kabylie, 53, 273, 310 
Kabylie, 11, 52 
Petite Kabylie, 273 
The Aures, 310 
The Petit Atlas, 241, 245 
Msaaba, Sheik of the, 11 
Msaken, 134 
Mustapha, 10, 16, 164, 245, 247 
M’zabs, region of the, 332 
Towns of the, 333 


Nabeul, 405 


Potteries of, 70, 405 

Pottery of, 71 

The ancient Neapolis, 405 
Napoleon, Saying of, 190 


Index 


439 








Neapolis (see Nabeul) 
Nédroma, 220, 221 
Nefzaoua, The, 69 
North Africa, 1, 2, 3, 4, 18, 28, 
29, 50, 69, 170, 197, 220, 221, 
229, 232, 273, 289, 312, 330, 
334, 337, 346, 382, 409, 412, 
417, 427 
Arab of, the, 114 
Arabian horse-flesh, rare in, 
169 
Arabs and Berbéres Arabisés 
of, 79 
Climate of, 37-38 
Germans in, 40-41 
Possibilities of trade with 
America and, 38-39 
Races met with in, 129 
Railways of, 1 
Social system of races of, 
142 
Tlemcen, the most original 
city in, 213 
Arab of most interest in, 144- 
145 
Donkey’s paradise, 173 
Garden of, 227 
Land of the burnous, 136 
Mauresques of, 163-165 
Moorish coffee shops of, 323- 
324 
Path of the Roman through, 


336 
North African Arab, The, 
251 
Numerus Syrorum, (see Lalla 
Marnia) 
Numidia, 53 (see Tell, The) 
Numidian Kings, 341 


Oasis of Degach, 428 
Oasis of Gabés, 10 
Okba-ben-Nafi, 329 
Okba-ben-Nofi, 409 
Omar, The Khalif, 109, 110 
Oran, 12, 37, 42, 50, 129, 144, 
206, 209-213 
Cathedral of St. Louis at, 212 


From, to the Morocco fron- 
tier, 209-226 
Grande Mosquée at, 212 
Markets of, 210 
Population of, 209 
Province of, 51 
Ouarda (see Blida) 
Ouardja, 234 
Ouarsenis, The, 242 
Oudjda, 220 
Fétes of, 220 
Oued Bou-Saada, The, 272 
Oued Kantara, The, 316 
Oued-Righ, valley of the, 53 
Oued-Souf, 10, 225, 334 
Maison Frangaise at, 11 
Ouida, 18, 19 
Ourgala, 417 


Paris, 6, 11, 31, 42, 173, 196, 
227 


Passage des Roches, 300 

Pasteur, 345 
Site of the ancient Lamiggiga, 

345 

Pedro Navarro, 254, 290 

Percy’s Reliques, (anecdote), 
101 

Perrégaux, railway from, 
south, 221 

Petit Atlas, The, 245 
Mountains of, 241 

Philippeville, 52, 213, 307-308 
Rusicade of the ancients, 341 

Pliny, 32, 182 

Point, Armand, 5 

Pointe Pescade, 164, 235 

Pomaria (see Tlemcen) 

Port Said, 6, 40, 101, 294 

Potter, 5 

Pygmalion, 391 


Rabelais, 16 

Rhodes, Cecil, 10, 62 
Richepin, 428 

Rovigo, steam-tram to, 264 
Riviére des Sables, 300 
Rocher du Lac, 301 


440 


Index 








Ruisseau des Singes, 243 
Hotel at the, 243 
Rummel, The, 292, 300 
Rummel, The Gorge of The, 
293, 298, 299-301 
Ruins of bridge across, 342 
Rusicade (see Philippeville) 


St. Augustin, Bishop of Hippo 
Regius, 338 

St. Cyprien, 393 

St. Perpétua, 393 

St. Vincent de Paul, 399 

Saddok-Bey, 59 

Sahel, The, 67, 70, 71, 229, 231, 
248, 254 
The Mitidja, and The, 227- 
244 

Saint Eugéne, 164, 235, 245 

Salah Rais, Pacha of Algiers in 
1555) 237 

Salah Bey, Mosque of, 295, 342 

Salambo, 393 
Opera of, 389 

Saldae (see Bougie) 

Salomon, 354 

Sallust, 293 

Salsa, patron saint of Tipaza, 
238 


Scipio, 389 

Septimus Severus, 
under, 347 

Seriana (see Pasteur) 

Setif, 239, 289 
Population of, 287 

Seville, minaret of the Giralda, 
at, 111 

Sfax, 12, 72, 93, 411, 412, 420, 
427 
Railway from, to Gafsa, 413 
Railway from, to Tozeur, 

414 

Si-Ali-Bey, 59, 60, 61 

Sid Ben Gannah, Grand chef 
of the Sud-Constantinois, 
233 

Sidi-Ahmed-ben- Y oussef, 
marabout, 242 


arch built 


the 


Sidi-bou-Said, 13, 391, 398-399 


Sidi-Brahim, the marabout, 
106 
Tomb of, 338 

Sidi-el-H adji-A bd-el-K ader-el- 
Djilali, 93 


Sidi-Ferruch, 235 
Sidi Hassin, 348-350 
Sidi-M’cid, hills of, 307 
Sidi-Okba, 329-330 
Arab school at, 330 
Café restaurant at, 329 
Mosque at, 330 
Shrine of, 329 
Tomb of, at, 330 
Sinan Pacha, 399 
Sittius, 341 
Souk-Ahras, 50, 345 
Sousse, 72, 405-408, 409, 411, 
412, 413, 420 
By rail or road from Nabeul 
to, 405 
Citadel of, 407 
Kasba of, 407 
Population of, 406 
Souks of, 406 
Spain, 2, 23. 35-36, 57, 92, 110, 
112; 129, 176,/213; 292, 400 
Arabs and Moors of, 115 
Oran, a penal colony of, 211 
Stanley, 10 
Staouéli-la-Trappe, 236 
Abbey at, 236 
Stora, 307 
A port of antiquity, 338 
Gulf of, 307 
Roman quais at, 36 
Sud-Algérie, 34 
Sud-Algerien, The goum of the, 
206 


Sud-Constantinois, 12, 225, 321 

Sud-Oranais, 34, 221, 224 
Spread of civilization in, 222 

Sud-Tunisien, 62, 338, 412 
Sheep of the, 418 

Syrte, The (see ‘Gulf of Gabés) 


Tacitus, 182 


Index 


441 








Tamerza, 423 

Tangier, 40, 111, 403 

Tebessa, 386, 344, 345, 352- 
354, 355, 421 
Arch of Triumph at, 336, 353 
Byzantine walls, 353-354 
Plan of, 353 
To, from Ain-Beida, 352 
Temperature and rainfall at, 


54 
Tell, The, 52, 309, 336 
A Caid of the, 138 
Roman cities of, 344 
The Numidia of the ancients, 
53 
Tertullian, 393 
Theverte (see Morsott) 
Thamugadi (see Timgad) 
Thusuras (see Tozeur) 
Thysdrus (see El-Djem) 
Tilatou, Gorges de (see Gorges 
de Tilatou) 
Timgad, 311, 336, 344, 348-351, 
352, 421 
Byzantine fortress at, 351 
Diligence from, to Kenchela, 
351 
Guide, 348-350 
“‘ Guide Illustré de,” 351 
Hotel Meille at, 348 
Plan of, 349 
Thamugadi of the ancients, 
350, 352 
Tipaza, 237, 238, 248, 338 
Population of, 238 
Roman ruins at, 238 
To Cherchell, 239 
Tirourda, The pass of, 288 
Tizi-Ouzou, 248, 273, 287 
Diligence from, to Fort 
National, 288 
Railway not beyond, 274 
Troops of, 206 
Tlemcen, 10, 11, 12, 16, 23, 53, 
101, 213-220, 221, 268, 338 
Camel Caravans from, 178 
Legend of Mosque of Man- 
sourah, 217-219 


Minaret of El Mansourah at, 


111 

Minaret of Sidi-bou-Medine, 
111 

Mosque of Djama l’Hassen 
at, 215 

Mosque of El Haloui, 216 

Mosque of El Mansourah at, 
109 

Mosques in, 98 

Pomaria of the Romans, 213, 
338 

Population of, 215 

Railway from Oran to, 213 

Siege of, in 3d century, 216 

Temperature and rainfall in, 
54 


Touabet, Mt., 53 
Touggourt, 11, 12, 44, 225, 411 
The Touaregs south of, 190 
Tozeur, 11, 12, 73, 225, 338, 
420-429 
Architecture of, 421 
Hotel at, 422, 428 
Journey from Gafsa to, 415- 
420 
Market at, 422 
Oases of Gabés and, 411, 414 
Oasis of, 414-429 
Thusuros of the ancients, 338 
View from Minaret of Ouled- 
Medjed at, 428 
Trajan, 350 
Tripoli, 61, 62, 113, 170 
Caravans in, 188 
De Barbarie, 30 
In Barbary, 12, 61, 114, 401, 
403 


Pacha of, 402 
Pirates of, 403 

Tinis, 14910, ebi 2) low. o, LG, 
17, 26, 30, 54, 58, 67, 70, 71, 
72, 105, 129, 135, 144, 173, 
246, 252, 268, 284, 289, 294, 
299, 326, 411, 412 
A city of consulates, 358 
A Jew of (anecdote), 362- 

363 


442 


Index 








And The Souks, 356-370 

Arab town of, the, 359, 367, 
368 

Bardo, 367 

Bey of (anecdote), 124-126 

Camel caravans from, 178 

Danseuses of, 128 

Dar El-Bey at, 296, 366, 367 

En route from, to Bizerta, 
397 

Foreigners in, 28 

Gates of Arab city of, 367 

Jewesses of, 283 

Jewish dancers of, 369 

Kasba, 367 

La Musique Beylicale at, 122 

La ville, 67 

Lake of, 357 

Life of, 364 

Minarets of, 103 

Minaret of Ez-Zitouna at, 
iid 

Minaret of the Kasba, 111 

Moorish cafés, 368 

Mosque of Djama_ Ez-Zi- 
touna at, 109 

Mosque of Sidi-Mahrez, 372 

Old, 371 

Population of, 365 

Prosperity of, 67 

Souks of the old town of, 
371-372 

Souks or bazaars of, 359- 
362, 398, 400, 403, 404, 
409, 411, 412 

Steam-tram from, to Car- 
thage, 390 

Tunisia, 22, 31, 46, 59, 63, 69, 

78, 98, 99, 107, 113, 144, 147, 

170, 176, 197, 262, 403, 408, 

409, 411, 423 

Army a necessity for, 60 

Authorization for travel into 
interior of, 73 


Efforts at colonizing the 
Régence of, 73 

Greater prosperity to come 
to, 62 

Kairouan, The Holy City of, 
405, 408 

Lybia of the ancients, 57, 
68 ; 


Need of capital in, 69 
Political status of native of, 
64, 65, 66 
Railways of, 72 
Régence of, and the Tunis- 
ians, 57-73 
Taxes in, 34 
Vineyards of, in 1900, 68 
Tunisia and Algeria, 24, 108, 
114 
Kxoubas in, 331 
Tunizia (see La Calle) 


Utica, 397 
Plan of ancient, 398 
Ruins at, 398 


Valée, General, 292 
Vernet, Horace, 201, 291 


Yacoub-el-Nansourd, The Sul- 
tat 
Yusuf, 200 


Zana, 345-346 
Byzantine fortress at, 346. 
Diana of the ancients, 345 
Temple of Diana at, 346 
Triumphal arches at, 346 

Zacear-Gharbi, The, 241 

Ziban, The, 53, 331, 332 
Inhabitants of, 331 

Ziem, 5 

Zorah-ben-M ohammed, incident 
of, 269, 270 

Zucchabar (see Miliana) 








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